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LIFE    MEMORIES; 


OTHER    POEMS. 


EDWARD    SPRAGUE    RAND,    JR 


BOSTON  AND   CAMBRIDGE: 
JAMES    MUNROE   AND    COMPANY. 

M  DCCC  LIX. 


Enteretl  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1858,  by 

EDWARD    S.     RAND,    JR., 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusf  Us. 


CAMBRIDGE:  TIIUR-TON  AND  TORRT,  FRFNTKES. 


T  O 


HON.    GEORGE    S.    HILLARD, 


THESE     VKKSKS     OF     I.KISl'RE    MOMENTS     ARE     RESPECTFULLY 


JDcDfcateU. 


PROLOGUE. 


HE  who  from  Nature's  open  book 

Her  noblest  lesson  reads, 
Knows  that  on  earth,  as  angels  look, 

There  are  no  flowers  or  weeds. 

Some  blossoms  flaunt  in  colors  gay, 
Some  wear  a  dress  of  green, 

Their  duty  done,  they  fade  away 
Unnoticed  or  unseen. 

What  if  it  fails  our  purblind  sight 

Their  glories  to  discern  ! 
'Tis  not  —  the  beauty  is  less  bright, 

But  —  we  have  more  to  learn. 

And  he  who  seeks  for  Nature's  store 

In  valley,  wood  or  field, 
Will  find  the  more  he  culls,  the  more 

The  lavish  seasons  yield. 


PROLOGUE. 

So  wandering  o'er  the  field  of  life 
With  glowing  flowerets  fraught, 

I  pluck  from  boughs  with  blossoms  rife 
The  opening  buds  of  thought. 

I  weave  no  store  of  blossoms  gay 

Of  sunny  tropic  hours, 
But  on  fair  Nature's  altar  lay 

A  wreath  of  simple  flowers. 

No  choice  exotics  from  afar 
Bloom  in  my  garland  twined, 

I  bring  anemone's  fair  star, 
The  windflowers  of  the  mind. 

If  none  may  feel  as  I  have  felt, 
The  pleasure  or  the  pain  — 

To  Nature  kneel  as  I  have  knelt, 
My  wreath  I  twine  in  vain. 


Nov.  1858. 


CONTENTS. 


P;ifre. 

LIFE  MEMORIES It 

THE  DEATH  OF  LOVE 51 

THE  OLD  ELM 54 

THE  DIAMONDS 62 

AUTUMN 64 

SELF-ABASEMENT 66 

THE  FIRST  SNOW .69 

THE  ANGELS 72 

THE  GRAND-DAME  .         .        .         .         .         .        .        .         75 

CLOUD  TRACINGS 78 

SADNESS H) 

SEPTEMBER 82 

THE  SHADOW 85 

THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE 89 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  MOON 94 

SNOW .         .97 

HOPE  AND  FAITH 98 

THE  NIGHT 99 

THE  SUMMIT 101 

THE  HEAVENS 102 

MOURNING     .        .         .        .         .        .         .        .         .  103 

NATURE 104 

SONGS 106 

SHADOWS 107 

DEAD  BLOSSOMS .         .108 

ADORATION        .  .109 


O  CONTENTS. 

THE  CONTRAST 110 

THOUGHTS 112 

ALONE 113 

A  WINTER  SCENE ,  114 

HOPES .  '      .  116 

GOD  DREW  THE  WORLD      .         .        .        .        .        .         .  118 

How  GROW  THE  LEAVES 120 

HEB.  iv.  10 122 

ABIDE  WITH  Us 124 

THE  HOUSE  ACROSS  THE  WAY 126 

THE  SEA 128 

WHEN  SKIES  ARE  BRIGHT 131 

WARNINGS 132 

VERONICA 134 

THE  PRESENT         .        .        .        .        .         .        .        .         .135 

NOONTI:E  ..........  137 

OCTOBER 139 

MY  HOMES         .                          142 

THE  HOME  OF  THY  REST 145 

To  THE  WITCH  HAZEL 147 

THE  DEPARTED 149 

I  SHALL  BE  SATISFIED        .......  151 

To  THE  NIGHT  BLOOMING  CEREUS 153 

THK  RECORDING  ANGEL 155 

FREEDOM'S  DAWN          ........  15'J 

FLOWERS    .                  161 

EVENING  HYMN 164 

To  C.  A.  R.  ON  HIS  BIRTH-DAY 165 

HYMN 168 

NOT  OF  MYSELF 170 

THE  PICTURE 172 

ASLEEP  IN  JESUS 174 

SORROW 175 


LIFE    MEMORIES. 


"  Would  3-011  tou-Mi  the  hcnrts  of  others, 
First  your  own  must  feel  the  glow." 

SCHILLER. 


LIFE    MEMORIES. 


MUSING  in  the  fitful  twilight,  in  the  shadows  of  my 

room, 
Mellowed  by  the  pearly  beaming  from  the  newly 

risen  moon, 
Spirit  forms  seem  flitting  round  me  as  the  evening 

creeps  along, 
And  their  weird-like  whisper  ringeth,  like  the  words 

of  distant  song, 
While  the  heart's  ^Eolian  harpstrings  murmur  with 

the  plaintive  lays, 
Which  the  breath  of  memory  calleth  from  the  lips 

of  by-gone  days; 
Till  the  spirit  wanders  backward  in   the  steps  of 

childhood  hours, 
When  the  sky  was  one  fair  azure  smiling  o'er  an 

oarth  of  flowers. 


12  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

All   was  bright,  the  kindly  warning,  morn   would 

quickly  take  her  flight, 
Wrapping  up  her  sunny  splendor  in  the  canopy  of 

night, 
On  the  childhood's  ear  fell  idle,  as  the  evanescent 

shade 
Starts  back  from  the  polished  metal  wavy,  trembling 

and  afraid. 
O  for  childhood  trusteth  ever,  as  a  brook  it  hurries 

free, 
Now  in  shade  and  now  in  sunshine,  ever  bursting 

merrily, 
While    big   tears    befringe  the    eyelids,   round  the 

mouth  the  smile  breaks  through, 
Like  the  flowers  at  early  morning,   laughing  in  a 

bath  of  dew. 
Backward  in  the  fields  of  memory,  lone  I  wander 

sad  and  slow, 

Circled  by  the  breath  of  blossoms  dead  and  with 
ered  long  ago, 
And  the  monotone  of  spirits  soft  and  low. 

II. 

Thoughts  and  actions  long  forgotten  buried  in  the 

past's  debris, 
From  the    thickening    darkness    forming    seem    to 

beckon  unto  me  ; 


LIFE    MEMORIES,  io 

Rosy  hopes  and  high  aspirings   point  with  fingers 

bare  and  lean 
To  those  sunny  airy  castles,  youth's  fair  dream,  the 

might  hare  been. 
Golden   moments  gone  forever  wring  their    hands 

o  O 

and  hurry  by 

Like  the  shadow  of  a  cloudlet,  or  a  dreamer's  fan 
tasy. 

And  alas,  with  gloomy  visage,  opportunities  for 
good, 

Unimproved  and  long  neglected,  rush  upon  me  in  a 
flood. 

Teeming  from  the  sullen  river,  rushing  back  on 
Time's  dull  wave, 

Rise  fair  aims  in  ghostly  garments,  like  the  marble 

«/       O 

o'er  a  grave. 
Far  within  the  dimmer  distance  the  dilated  vision 

sees 
Darkening  forms  in  sable  vestments,  like  dull  groups 

of  fire-killed  trees 
Stretching  out  their  blasted  fingers,  clutching  stiffly 

at  the  air, 
Nought  for  shade,  in  silence  telling  gloomy  legends 

of  despair. 
Long  the  train  of  sin  and  evil,  little  faults  before 

my  eyes, 
Stripped   of   all  their  beauteous   seeming,  looming 

no\v  in  hideous  guise  ; 


14  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

Nought  were  they,  of  little  moment,  in  the  morn 
ing's  reckless  dream, 
O  but  on  the  evening  vision  with  what  baleful  light 

they  gleam  ! 
And  the  mist  of  distance  seemeth,  as  it  makes  them 

grow  more  dim, 
So  to  lend  them  fearful  stature,  giant  size  in  face 

and  limb. 
Is  this  all  that  memory  bringeth?  rouse  and  drive 

the  past  away, 
Barring  out  the  gloomy  phantoms,  live  we  only  for 

to-day ! 
Hark  upon  the  darkness  stealing  gentle  sounds  of 

music  creep, 
Like  the  zephyr's  on  the  grasses  when  he  sings  the 

flowers  to  sleep, 
Yet  so  gentle,  soft  and  plaintive,  one  would  weep. 


in. 

What  the  light  that   glows    around  me,  soft   and 

lucent  as  the  beam 
Which  the  raptured  soul  transfuses  in  some  holy, 

happy  dream  ? 
When  the  spirit  flees  the   body,  when  the  bonJs  of 

clay  are  riven, 
So  the  soul    may   spring    exulting,  bathing  in   its 

native  heaven. 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  15 

All  around,  above  are  floating  blessed  angels  clothed 

in  white, 
Starry  gleams  of  dazzling  splendor,  pure  effulgences 

of  light, 
Each  upon  the  forehead  bearing  memory  of  some 

generous  deed 
Prompted  by  some  noble  impulse,  done  with  scarce 

awakened  heed, 
Yet  'twas  treasured  by  an  angel  as  a  gem  of  purest 

ray, 
Jewel  on  the  heavenly  record   shining  for  eternal 

day. 

Kindly  words  from  memory's  garner  careless  drop 
ped  nor  sought  again, 
Yet  they  filled  some  gleaner's  apron,  robbing  grief 

of  half  its  pain ; 
Cheerful  smiles  we  recked  but  little,  yet  they  helped 

a  weary  one 
Bravely    to    bear    up    life's    burden,  undiscouraged 

pressing  on  ; 
Thence  the  glory  beaming  o'er  me,  thence  the  swell 

of  holy  song, 

Which  through  heaven's  eternal  arches  still  unend 
ing  sweeps  along. 
Angels  nearer  wave  your  pinions  to  the  swelling  of 

the  strain, 
()  the  bliss  to  sink  in  slumber,  sleep  and  never  wake 


16  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

From  this  ecstasy  of  pleasure  lot  the  spirit  drink  us 
fill, 

Nought  disturbing,  nought  intruding,  dead  the  pas 
sions,  drowned  the  will, 

Conseious  of  existence  only,  peaceful,  still. 


IV. 

Darkness  all  again  around  me  save  upon  the  check- 

ered  floor, 
Where  the  moonbeams  risen  higher,  silver  floods  of 

radiance  pour. 
Raising  me  from   my  reclining,  out  upon  the  world 

I  gaze 
On  the  trees  in  snowy  vesture,  on  the  city's  beaten 

ways. 
Everywhere  the  moonbeams  whiten,  mellowing  e'en 

the  shadows  down, 
As  a  sunbeam  gilds  a  cloudlet,  as  a  smile  breaks 

o'er  a  frown, 
Touching  all  the  trees'  bare  fingers,  —  silvering  the 

church's  spire, 
Till  the  vane  and  silent  letters  seem  white  points  of 

argent  fire. 
Pearly  snow  and  silver  moonbeam  !  how  the  soi't 

effulgence  laves 
E'en  the  marble  ghostlike  breaking  from  the  silent 

sea  of  graves, 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  17 

While  the  grass  in  icy  shrouding  to  the  wind's  cold 

breathing  waves, 
Sounding   with   a   solemn   music,   ringing  winters 

dreary  staves. 
Not  a  voice,  or  stealing   footfall  crunching  on  the 

icy  snow, 
And  the  vision  seems  to  wander  down  the  streets 

of  long  ago, 
Thro'  some  old  enchanted  city,  where  some  Circe's 

rnagic  spell 
Fossilized  the  sentient  myriads   by   a  draught   of 

oenorael, 
Or  shook  poppies,  till  a  slumber  death-like  on  the 

eyelids  fell. 
Silence   o'er   the   sleeping    city,  —  silence    o'er    the 

churchyard  drear, 
Quietly  the  dead  and  living  seem  to  verge  together 

here ;  — 
Here,  the  heart  is  beating  ardent}  dreams  of  future 

joy —  of  bliss  ; 
There,  its  pulsings   rest  forever — why    not   seek  a 

peace  like  this? 
Rest    eternal!    slovm    or    sunshine    waken    not  the 

sleepers  there, 
Summer  with    her  balmy  breathings,  Winter  with 

his  freezing  air, 
Spring  may  scatter  violets  o'er  them,  loving  hands 

bedeck  with  flowers, 


18  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

Will  the  cold  earth  give  a  token,  smiling  lips  re 
spond  to  ours  ? 

If  we  call  them  will  they  answer  ?  though  in  bitter 
ness  we  weep, 

Will  the  salt  tears  trickling  to  them  waken  their 
eternal  sleep  ? 

Pour  out  all  the  stores  of  loving,  utter  every  fond 
est  tone, 

WThere  the  answer?  Death  and  silence  sway  a 
sceptre  here  alone. 

Quiet,  peace,  or  only  seeming  ?  O  how  oft  a  face 
of  glee 

Wreathes  a  spirit  almost  breaking  with  its  weight 
of  agony! 

Some  things  brighter  seem  in  dying,  fairer  growing 
in  decay, 

Seem  to  catch  unearthly  lustre,  shining  but  to  pass 
away. 

Peace,  vain  spirit,  whence  thy  knowledge  of  the 
mystery  of  death  ? 

Outward  quiet  may  give  token  of  a  seething  hell 
beneath. 

Rouse!  the  nicer  sense  of  hearing  gradually  wanes 
aw.ay, 

When  the  ear  in  noisy  tumult  turns  itself  from 
day  to  day; 

So  amid  thy  sad  complaining,  murmurings  at  seem 
ing  wrong, 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  19 

Thou  may'st  lose  angelic  music,  miss  some  strain 

of  holy  song ; 
Gazing   upward   trust  in   heaven,   good  or  evil, — 

come  what  will, 
Using  blessings  still  remember,  nought  is  altogether 

ill. 


v. 

Nothing  ill,  no  all  is  blessing,  what  the  future,  what 

the  past? 
'Tis  the  present  we  are  living,  in  the  now  our  lot  is 

cast;  — 
Swell  the  love  song,  fill  the  wine  cup,  drain  it  dry 

and  fill  again, 
Death   is  but  annihilation  ;  —  soberness   our    only 

pain, — 
Fill  your  glasses,  —  here's  confusion   to  the  sober 

prating  crew 

Who  exhort  to  live  forever  with  eternity  in  view. 
In  the  present  we  are  living,  for  the  present  let  us 

live, 
What  the  paradise  of  pleasure  to  the  heaven  wine 

can  give  ? 
Closer  draw  around  the  table,  fill  each  to  his  lady 

fair, 
Mistress  or  betrothed  or  sweetheart,  drain  the  glass  ; 

we  little  care, 


20  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

Kiss  her  cheek?,  her  lips,  her  forehead,  drink  in  bliss 

while  yet  you  may, 
For  remember  in   the   future  worms  will  kiss  the 

same  some  day. 
Start   not!    death's    annihilation,  wherefore   shrink 

back  from  the  tomb, 
After  life  all  spent  in  pleasure,  is  it  hardship  deaih 

should  come? 
If  there  were  eternal  burnings,  wherefore  tremble, 

what  thy  care  1 
Will  not  all  earth's  great  and  noble  meet  at  last 

together  there  1 
Fill  the  wine  cup  in  the  present,  drink  and  dare. 


VI. 


Madness!  yet   no  fancy  dreaming,  what  one  hears 

and  sees  full  ofr, 
Death,    eternity,    derided,  —  morals    and    religion 

scoffed ! 
Higher  now  the  moon  has  risen  'cornpanied  by  one 

bright  star, 
As  a  lover  fond  and  ardent   seeks  his  loved  one's 

bower  afar ; 
Nearer  now  they  grow  together,  till  he  sinks  in  her 

embrace. 
And  his  light  is  lost  and   melted  in  the  brightness 

of  her  face. 


LITE    MEMORIES.  21 

Once  again  the  lips  of  Memory  whisper  to  the 
spirit's  ear, 

Once  again  her  magic  mirror  bringet-h  by-gone  mo 
ments  near, 

Slowly  iloats  her  plaintive  tuning,  dirge-like  as  a 
funeral  strain, 

Then,  as  if  in  exultation  pealing  up  to  heaven 
again ; 

ATaried  is  the  heart's  deep  music  by  the  hand  that 
sweeps  the  strings, 

Many  are  the  spirit's  measures,  thousand-toned  the 
notes  it  sings ; 

Gladness  with  her  blithesome  touches  draws  from 
thence  as  gay  a  song 

As  the  vernal  robin's  carol,  echoing  the  woods 
along ; 

While  pale  Grief  with  careless  fingers  calls  to  birth 
as  sad  a  wail 

As  the  withered  leaflets  whisper  to  the  cold  No 
vember  gale ; 

Breathing  notes  of  things  departed,  subjects  of  the 
grave's  dark  reign, 

Friends  and  flowers  which  died  together  nevermore 
to  bloom  again. 

Nevermore!  O  vain  delusion,  once  inspired  we  never 
die, 

But  our  round  of  life  rolls  onward,  on  to  all  eter 
nity  ! 


22  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

Different   thoughts,    and   various    natures,    strange 

diversities  of  aim, 
Yet  the  once  divine  inflatus  is  and  will  be  still  the 

same. 
How?  we  know  not,  —  yet  the  promptings  swelling 

upward  in  the  soul, 
Seem  at  times  to  rise  impatient  of  the  body's  base 

control ; 
Who  has  not  at  purer  moments  known  a  burning 

rich  desire 

To  shake  off  some  unseen   fetters,  mounting  up 
ward  to  aspire  ? 
Seen  some  spirit-finger  pointing  upward  from  the 

base  and  low, 
Heard  some  angel  whisper  telling,  "  We  are  wiser 

than  we  know?" 
O  we  wrong  our  better  natures  living  on  for  earthly 

gains, 
On  the  anvil  of  existence  ever  hammering  golden 

chains ; 
Feeding  the  insatiate  furnace  where  we  melt  our 

shining  ore, 

With  our  spirit's  heavenly  longings,  with  our  na 
ture's  vital  store, 
And  the  flame  licks  out  our  bosoms,  leaving  them 

as  dry  and  lean 
As   the    shrivelled   water-courses   where    Sahara's 

breath  has  been. 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  23 

We  would  weigh  each  noble  passion  with  its  weight 

in  sordid  gold, 
As  if  aims   of   heavenly   being  could  be  bartered, 

bought  and  sold, 
As  if  heaven's  enumeration   could  in    mortal  coin 

be  told  ! 
I  have  wandered;  —  Memory's  music  echoed  in  a 

simple  strain, 
Time  looked  back  on   scattered  roses,  man  became 

a  child  again. 
Then  in  life's  ecstatic  morning  every  blossom  of  the 

field 
Seemed  to  smile  on  me  responsive,   golden   stores 

of  treasure  yield. 
Happy   birthday   of  existence,    April   morn   of  sun 

and  showers  ; 
O    how    bright    had    been    my    being    had    I   only 

plucked  the  flowers, 
Many  more  its  happy  moments,  fewer  far  its  bitter 

hours  ! 
Morn  to  night,  and  night  to  morning,  ever  smiling 

looked  on  me, 
Every  year  was  freighted  heavy  with  a  childhood's 


Then  a  sickness,  life's  weak  taper  flickered  in  the 

chilly  breath, 
Wafted  from  the  sullen  closing  of  the  ponderous 

gates  of  death  ; 


'24  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

Closing  on  the  sable  angel  bearing  with  him  to  the 

gloom, 
A  fair  morning  glory  blossom  withered  ere  the  heat 

of  noon. 

Yet  by  holy  intuition  every  sorrowing  spirit  knew 
'Twas  a  blossom  but  transplanted,  only  faded  from 

our  view. 
Life  was  flickering,  yet  the  taper  burned  again  with 

steady  light; 
Life  was  young  and  youth   was   ardent,  thirsting 

for  some  new  delight, 
So  the  boy  in  wandering  onward  never  dreamed  of 

night. 

VII. 

O  how  lightly  Time's  swift  pinion  touches  on  some 
years  of  life, 

How  the  weeks  and  months  flit  onward,  every  mo 
ment  pleasure  rife ; 

As  to  boyhood  each  to-morrow,  seemingly  so  far 
away, 

Merges  yesterday's  existence  in  the  pleasures  of  to 
day. 

Pause,  O  Memory,  bring  before  me  those  bright 
imagings  of  fame, 

Those  that  filled  each  waking  moment,  and  in 
dreamy  visions  came. 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  25 

Airy  castles,  youthful  dreaming  what  might  be,  yet 

ne'er  has  been, 
Rainbow-tinted  landscapes  painted  on  the  future's 

heavy  screen; 
Which   some   power  in   wisdom   holdeth,  lest  our 

mortal  eye  should  see 

Present  happiness  embittered  by  some  coming  mis 
ery. 
Onward  as  in  life  we  wander,  faint  more  dim  those 

visions  seem, 
Years,  like  harsh  and  jarring  discords,  dissipate  the 

pleasing  dream. 
Even  Memory's  magic  touches  fail  to  paint  a  scene 

as  fair, 
Boyhood  is  the  master-builder  to  rear  castles  in  the 

air. 
Let  it  build  its  pleasing  fancies,  see  its  eidolon  of 

j°y> 

Soon,  too  soon,  the  world's  conscription  sounds  its 
war-blast  for  the  boy  ; 

Soon  reality  impresses  fancy  in  her  stern  employ! 

Who  can  sound  to  others'  hearing  notes  which  on 
the  boy's  rapt  ear 

Fell  as  spirit-music  floating  down  from  some  ethe 
real  sphere? 

We  can  know,  yet  ne'er  may  tune  them ;  treasure 
them  within  the  breast, 


26  XIFE    MEMORIES. 

Mortal  tongue  may  never  utter,  'tis  the  spirit's  sweet 

behest, 
Heavenly  nurture  for  the  spirit  by  the  angels  blest. 

VIII. 

To  recall  the  boyhood's  dreaming  all  in  vain  would 
Memory  try, 

'Tis  like  conjuring  up  to  being  sounds  of  elfish 
revelry. 

Gorgeous  yet  ephemeral  flowerets  ere  the  sunset 
die. 

Yet  as  in  some  changing  tableau  bright  and  brighter 
scenes  appear, 

So  in  life  the  picture  brightens,  opening  wider  year 
by  year : 

Now  as  boyhood  gently  riseth  into  manhood's  no 
bler  day, 

Other  powers  exert  dominion,  unknown  spirits  em 
pire  sway. 

O  that  ecstasy  of  feeling,  burning  pleasure  of  the 
soul, 

When  young  love  usurps  our  being,  bencls  each 
will  to  his  control ! 

Every  sweet  note  of  existence  blends  upon  his 
magic  lyre, 

Vein  and  artery  seem  swelling  with  a  stream  of 
liquid  fire. 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  27 

Far  above  our  lower  being  moves  the  lover  on  in 

pride, 
Thinking,  heeding  nought,  nor  seeing  save  the  loved 

one  at  his  side. 
Some  supernal  power  has  woven  round  his  path  a 

web  so  fine, 
That  it  fails  our  grosser  vision  gazing  on  the  veil 

divine  ; 

While  the  spirit's  rising   feelings  form   an  atmos 
phere  so  rare, 
Others  dare  not,  may  not  breathe  it,  living  in  a 

denser  air. 
In  this  inner  realm  he  reigneth,  careless  of  the  world 

around, 

Basking  in  a  sun  of  pleasure,  with  eternal  wreath- 
ings  crowned. 
O  that  love  could  last  forever !  yet,  alas,  it  may  not 

be  ; 
It  \vould  wing  the  hours  of  sorrow —  give  too  much 

of  gayety, 
To  a  pathway  God  in  mercy  planted  round  with 

thorn  and  brier, 
Lest  if  all   the  way  were  flowery,  earth-born,  we 

might  never  tire 
Plucking    earthly    silken     blossoms,   mindless    of 

another  sphere, 
Burying  our  holier  promptings  with  the  flowerets 

gathered  here. 


28  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

Youthful  love  must  fade  and  lessen,  yet  is  never 
wholly  lost, 

Like  the  promised  bow  it  gleameth  to  the  weary 
tempest-tossed  ; 

When  the  sea  of  life  is  troubled,  when  the  waves 
of  passion  roll, 

Bright  portrayed  upon  the  blackness  in  the  heaven 
of  the  soul, 

Calls  to  mind  the  hours  it  brightened  in  the  morn 
ing  past  away, 

Then  points  upward  to  a  heaven  glowing  in  its 
sunny  ray, 

Spirit  realm,  the  blest  forever,  sweet  eternal  day. 

IX. 

When  the  boyhood's  wondering  vision  viewed  the 

mystery  of  death, 
Fear  held  wide  the  straining  eyelids,  clutching,  kept 

the  trembling  breath, 
Dread,  a  vague  and  formless  terror  big  with  thoughts 

of  personal  ill, 
Weighed   upon   the    whole    existence,   bade   each 

rising  thought  "  be  still," 
Till  the  tear-drops  like  a  torrent  rain  engendered 

downward  swept, 
Who  shall  search   the  inner  nature,  who  shall  tell 

us  why  we  wept  ? 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  29 

Then  the  long  and  dreary  watches  in  the  silence  of 
the  night, 

When  awake  we  lie  awaiting  the  slow  coming  of 
the  light ; 

How  the  forms  of  the  departed  rise  upon  the  boy 
hood's  sight, 

Closed  eyes  and  pallid  features,  clothed  in  shrouds 
of  snowy  white : 

Just  as  last  he  saw  them  lying  ere  the  coffin  lid 
shut  o'er, 

Ere  they  passed  from  mortal  vision,  vanishing  for- 
everrnore. 

How  he  crowds  his  clasping  fingers  close  upon  his 
shrinking  eyes, 

Lest  from  shrouded  forms  around  him  living  shapes 
of  fear  arise, 

Lying  trembling,  lest  each  moment  he  may  feel  upon 
his  head 

The  cold  touch  of  icy  fingers,  or  chill  breathings  of 
the  dead. 

These  the  scenes  that  flit  around  him  till  the  morn 
ing  breaketh  near, 

So  the  child's  idea  of  dying  rests  a  ghostly  name 
less  fear. 

But  in  youth  maturer  learnings  swell  exuberance  of 
thought, 

Each  idea  is    huge  with  meaning,  every  thinking 
treasure  fraught. 


30  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

Death,  a  strange   and  fearful   changing,  when  the 

general  law  of  clay, 
Victor  like,  asserts  its  mastery,  calls  the  body  to 

decay, 
Drags  that  form  which  walked  triumphant  back  to 

seek  its  kindred  sod, 
Sends  the  soul  on  some  long  journey  to  find  out 

some  unknown  God. 
This  enough,  —  no  more  it  seeketh,  —  pleasure  holds 

some  sunny  prize, 
Is  it  wonder  youth  speeds  onward  with  enchanted 

eyes  ? 

• 

x. 

How  the  east  wind's  icy  blowing  chills  the  early 

summer  hours, 
Bearer   of  the  ocean's   message    to  the  shrinking, 

trembling  flowers ; 
So  affliction  o'er  the  spirit  spreads  an  all-pervading 

gloom, 
When  the  heart's  bright  flowers  are  blasted  in  the 

east  wind  of  the  tomb. 
Then  gay  youth,  so  glad  and  buoyant,  crushed  in 

spirit  sinks  to  earth  ; 
In  bereavement's  bitter  moments  how  we  lose  the. 

hours  of  mirth. 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  31 

Once    again    before    my   vision,  Memory  hold  thy 

magic  glass, 
Yet  once  more  by  conjuration  let  long  by-gone  days 

repass. 
Sadness  veils  a  May-day  morning,  born  in  smiles, 

yet  set  in  tears, 
Darker  still  that  morn  appeareth,  gazed  at  through 

the  mist  of  years. 
Heartstrings  then  were  swept  so  rudely,  dirge-tike 

requiems  ever  roll 
Through  the  long  aisles  winding  onward,  whispering 

galleries  of  the  soul. 
Let  whate'er  of  golden  fruitage  gild  the  noontide 

of  my  day, 
Memory  of  the  bitter  morning  nevermore  may  pass 

away. 
See  in    Memory's  magic  mirror  hand  in  hand  two 

children  stray, 

Wandering  in  a  flowery  meadow,  roving  on  in  care 
less  play; 
One,  a  boy,  whose  eye  dark  flashing,  tender  ever, 

gazed  in  pride 
On  the  gentle  form,  the  sister,  playing  trusting  by 

his  side  ; 
Like  were  they  in  gaze  and   bearing,  nurtured  by 

one  mother's  care, 
Lulled  to  slumber  by  one  singing,  taught  to  breathe 

the  selfsame  prayer ; 


32  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

Yet  unlike,  for  on  her  forehead,  radiant  wreathing 

one  might  trace, 
Twinings  of  the  heavenly  chaplet  holy  spirits  ever 

place 
On  the  brow  of  those  whom  heaven  destines  for  a 

higher  sphere ; 
Blessed  ones,  who  sent  to  cheer  us,  only  spend  their 

morning  here. 
On  his  brow  a  darker  wreathing,  bearing  duties  to 

be  done, 
Fears  to  conquer,  doubts  to  vanquish,  evil  aims  to 

be  o'erthrown  ; 
Yet  through  all  the  maze  of  evil  ever  run  a  golden 

line, 
Talisman    of    heavenly    twining,    augury    of  love 

divine, 
Telling  e'en  though  often  erring,  sin  and  doubt  at 

last  should  cease, 
Life's  tempestuous  billows  wafting  heavenward  to 

endless  peace. 
As  the  summer  days  flow  onward,  brighter  grows 

her  holy  crown, 
Nearer  flit  the  shining  angels,  kindred  spirits  seek 

their  own  ; 

Yet  the   boy  in    plucking   flowerets  bended  down 
ward  to  the  ground, 
Is  it  strange  he  missed  the  ornens,  heavenly  mercy 

spread  around  ? 


X1FE    MEMOEIES.  33 

When  the  blossoms'  bells  were  ringing  silver  mys 
teries  profound, 

Wonder  that  the  ear  was  heavy  to  the  angels'  high 
er  sound? 

Fairer,  paler  grew  her  beauty  as  the  evening  called 
each  day, 

Like  the  morning  wind-flower,  lovely,  ere  the  night 
to  pass  away  ; 

Yet  love  cast  a  heavy  shadow  veiling  from  our 
mortal  eyes, 

How  her  pathway  was  diverging,  tending  upward 
to  the  skies ; 

Till  at  last,  one  May-day  morning,  as  we  gaily  wan 
dered  on, 

In  a  winding  way  we  missed  her,  turned  and  found 
the  idol  gone, 

O,  the  aloes  of  affliction,  bitterness  to  rove  alone! 

Gone  the  floweret,  gone  the  jewel,  yet  the  casket 
still  was  left, 

Yet  it  only  told  the  spirit  how  its  lovings  were  be 
reft! 

So  with  gentle  hands  we  gave  it  into  earth's  protect 
ing  care, 

Placed  it  where  the  grass  was  greenest,  where  the 
flowers  were  nodding  fair  ; 

Fond  affection  wept  and  blessed  it,  then  we  turning 
left  it  there. 


34  LIIE    MEMORIES. 

Breathing  soft  from  all  around  us  rose  a  soul-assur 
ing  strain, 
Some  kind  angel's  unseen  fingers  poured  a  chrism 

o'er  our  pain, 
Told  that  in  the  far  horizon  we  should  find  the  lost 

again. 
Now  we  cheerful  wander  forward,  gazing  to  those 

distant  heights, 
Whence   a   heavenly   ray   seems    breaking   on   the 

darkness  of  our  nights  ; 
Knowing  there    in    full    effulgence    beckoning    the 

angels  stand, 
Feeling  she  is  gazing  on  us,  bright  among  the  spirit 

band, 
Waits  to  welcome  us  to  heaven  with  an  outstretched 

hand. 


XL 

Rest  thee,  sister,  o'er  thy  pillow  let  the  earliest  blos 
soms  spring  ; 

Let  the  waving  of  the  leaflets  to  the  trees  thy 
requiem  sing! 

May  the  brightest  insects  hover  sporting  o'er  thy 
place  of  rest, 

Let  its  oak  trees  cast  the  shadow  which  the  violet 
loves  the  best. 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  35 

Dewdrops,  swell  to  larger  gemming  in  the  mosses' 

scarlet  cup, 
Trees,  spread   thick   your  leafy  umbrage    lest  the 

sunshine  suck  them  up, 
Let  them  rest  a  pearly  nectar,  for  the  wandering 

zephyr's  wing, 
Or  to  float  the  blue-bird's  singing,  earliest  warbler 

of  the  spring. 
May  hepatica's  blue  flowerets,  nodding  from  their 

leafy  bed, 
Breathe  the  beauty  of  the  sleeper  to  the  leaf  buds 

overhead  ; 
Then  let  violets  catch  the  chorus,  and  the  song  go 

echoing  on, 
Where  anemone's  pale  starrings  bend  above  some 

mossy  stone, 

And  as  Summer  weaves  her  mantle  flower-bespan 
gled,  living  green, 
Let  gerardia's  transient  blossoms,  o'er  her  bosom 

weeping  lean  ; 
When   stern    Autumn   sways   his   sceptre,  let  the 

feathery  asters  nod, 
Singing  dirges  where  she  sleepeth  to  the  tremulous 

golden  rod ! 
Then,  when  Winter  casts  a  garment  snowy  from  his 

icy  arm, 
Gently  fall,  O  pearly  snowflakes,  keep  our  sister's 

grave  from  harm. 


36  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

Rest  thee,  sister,  whatsoever  care  or  woe  our  lot 

may  be, 
We  may  gaze  above  exulting  every  grief  is  spared 

to  thee ; 
Thorns  and  brambles,  pain  and  sorrow,  on  our  path 

of  life  increase, 
But   thy   spirit   resteth    ever,   blest   in    everlasting 

peace. 
Yet  whate'er  our  bitter  moments,  blue-eyed  Hope 

our  constant  guest, 
Whispers  of  thy  home  so  glorious,  in  the  mansions 

of  the  blest. 
Symphonies  of  heavenly  music  breathe  of  thee,  our 

loved,  our  own, 
In  the  swelling  of  the  windharp  oft  we  seem  to 

catch  thy  tone, 
Howsoe'er  bereft,  the  spirit  lives  not  all  alone. 


To  some  natures,  grief  and  sorrow  are  but  episodes 

of  pain, 
All  elastic,  like  the  willow,  they  spring  back  to  joy 

again  ; 
Others,  like  a  spreading  chestnut,  rearing  proud  its 

head  on  high, 
May  not  bend,  and  sorrow's  whirlwind  tears  them 

from  the  ground  to  die 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  37 

Youth  is  like  the  gentle  osier,  bowing  down  to  every 
breeze, 

Manhood,  like  the  stern  Castinea,  empress  of  the 
woodland  trees. 

Years  fled  on,  as  youth  was  entering  into  manhood's 
rising  way, 

Sickness  held  the  longed-for  portal,  bade  the  hurry 
ing  footsteps  stay. 

O  intensity  of  suffering,  struggling  for  the  vital 
breath, 

Combat  stern  between  two  angels,  guardian  powers 
of  life  and  death  ! 

O  the  fierceness  of  the  conflict,  which  should  con 
quer,  which  should  yield, 

Utter  agony  of  paining,  this  weak  frame  the  battle 
field  ! 

Day  by  day  life's  ebbing  streamlet  sunk  within  its 
dried-up  bed, 

Hour  by  hour  the  sable  angel  ope'd  the  portals  of 
the  dead! 

Such  the  suffering  of  body,  that  a  lethargy  of 
soul 

Seemed  upon  the  past  and  future  dark  oblivion's 
shade  to  roll ; 

Anything  to  ease  the  paining,  death  or  life,  what- 
e'er  it  be, 

Differed  little,  gave  it  freedom  from  the  awful  ag 


ony ! 


38  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

What  might  be  beyond  death's  river  gave  the  spirit 

little  fear, 
Could  eternal  pains  burn  deeper  than  the  tortures 

suffered  here? 
Yet  from  out  the  soul's  dark  ocean,  memory  of  two 

forms  would  rise, 
One  a  mortal  almost  worshipped,  one  an  angel  in 

the  skies. 
Thoughts  rose  on  the  spirit's  billows  how  bereaved 

and  left  alone, 
She  would  wander  sad  and  lonely  when  the  kindred 

soul  had  flown ; 
Then  the  airy  fancy  pictured  how  a  sister's  smile 

would  greet, 

What  the  region,  the  surroundings,  where  the  part 
ed  souls  should  meet, 
Then  a  calm  indifference  brooded  sad  and  deep. 

XIII. 

O  that  glorious  summer  morning,  swelling  paeans 

ringing  high, 
Nature's   myriad  voices   blending   in   one   tuneful 

symphony ! 
On  the  very  verge  of  dying,  quivering  nature  gave 

the  ear, 
Some  supernal  power,  acuteness,  every  low  drawn 

breath  to  hear, 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  39 

Then  it  caught  the  smothered  whispers,  telling   ere 

the  close  of  day 
The  long  contest  would  be  ended,  every  doubt  be 

rolled  away, 
Life  prevail,  or  the  worn  spirit  leave  a  pallid  form 

of  clay  ! 
Worn-out  Nature's  feeble  music  sounded  faintly  in 

the  strife, 
Then   first   breathing   dread    of   dying,  —  clinging 

fondly  unto  life  ; 
As  the  balmy  cooling  zephyr  caught  the  perfume 

of  the  flowers, 
The  dull  senses  felt  the  beauty  of  this  radiant  world 

of  ours. 
How  the   moments    seemed   to    hasten,  each   one 

clinging  to  the  past, 
Little  muffled  bells  were  knelling,  one,  one  nearer 

to  the  last! 
Chiming  to  the  heart's  quick  beatings,  —  pulsing  O 

so  fast. 
Morning,  noon,  as  dusky  evening  cast  her  shadows 

o'er  the  plain, 
Life  blew  back  the  damps  of  dying,  caught  her 

quivering  wand  again ; 
Yet  so  nearly  had  the  sceptre  lost  its  potent  magic 

power, 
Servient   spirits   came  but   slowly,  lingered  tardy 

hour  by  hour ; 


40  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

Yet  as  evening  grew  to  morning,  as  the  morning 

called  the  eve, 
Busy  hands  in  secret  working  seemed  the  web  of 

life  to  weave; 
As   the   body   slowly  quickening,   mental  faculties 

called  out, 
'Scaping  from  the  chains  of  sickness,  they  went 

ranging  all  about, 

Bringing  back  such  stores  of  knowledge  to  the  over 
burdened  brain, 
Oft  they  thought  life's  lamp  was  flickering,  death's 

reprieving  all  in  vain. 
'Twas  but  transient,  soon  the  spirit  comprehended 

in  its  ken 
Every  thought,  and  searched  all  curious,  musing 

what  the  past  had  been, 
Glad,  exulting,  turning  boldly  in  the  common  paths 

of  men. 

XIV. 

Boy  religion,  'tis  a  feeling   soulward  wafted  from 

afar, 
Of  mysterious  unknown  beings,  wiser,  greater  than 

we  are, 
Calling  longings  from  the  spirit  as  the  south  wind 

calleth  flowers, 
Consciousness  of  unseen  angels   flitting  o'er  this 

world  of  ours. 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  41 

Vague  and  undefined  believing,  yearning  for  some 

good,  unsought, 
In  the  soul's  deep  niches  treasured,  far  beyond  the 

light  of  thought. 

By  this  inner  impulse  prompted,  high  aspirings  up 
ward  rise, 
As  the  crocus  openeth  sunward,  smiling  from  its 

dewy  eyes ; 
And  the  spirit  joins  the  paean,  endless  praise  which 

never  dies, 
Swelling  up  from  Nature's  bosom,  chorus  of  exist- 

encies. 
Nature  praiseth  her  Creator,  various  the  voice  and 

tone, 
Every  leaflet,  every  flower  bud,  swells  an   anthem 

of  its  own ; 
Could  our  ears  but  catch  the  music,  hear  the  lofty 

trees  around, 
Like  the  pipes  of  mighty  organs,  raise  a  melody  of 

sound ; 
Vain !  the  spirit's  voice  too  early  blends  no  more 

in  Nature's  praise, 
Far  too  soon  it  grows  discordant,  makes  a  jarring 

in  her  lays. 
Old  and  pleasing  runs  the  legend  that  o'ershadow- 

ing  Orpheus'  grave, 
Bay  and   myrtle   intertwining  shining   wreaths    of 

leaflets  wave. 
3 


42 


LIFE    MEMORIES. 


There  the  closer  Philomela  builds  among  the  sacred 
trees, 

So  the  sweeter  floats  her  singing,  borne  upon  the 
evening  breeze. 

Thus  the  more  the  soul  retaineth  of  the  purity  of 
youth, 

Freer  float  the  songs   of  gladness,  fewer  fall  the 
tears  of  ruth. 

Spirits  clinging  unto  Nature  rise  above  the  laws 
of  time, 

Read  the  mysteries  of  creation  chronicled  in  books 
sublime, 

Learn  to  know  that  every  creature,  e'en  though  low 
its  station  be, 

Brings  a  lesson  for  their  reading,  teaching  for  eter 
nity. 

Beauty  here  is  but  foreshadowing  of  the  glories  we 
shall  see, 

When  the  touch   of  death   shall  open  present  to 
futurity. 

Yet  how  myriad   souls  plod  onward,  stifling  each 
holy  fire, 

Even  love's  enkindling  embers  deadening  with  ac 
cursed  desire, 

Checking  every  holy  prompting,  trampling  the  blos 
soms  down 

Which  by  tears  and  praying  nourished,  might  be 
wreathed  a  heavenly  crown  ; 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  43 

Spirit  blossoms  which  expanded  breathe  a  prayer 
ful  incense  up, 

Till  the  bright  peace  angels  hovering,  nestle  in  each 
flowery  cup ; 

Bid  the  stormy  winds  of  passion  lull  them  into 
perfect  peace, 

As  stern  billows  sink  recumbent,  when  the  tempest 
chafings  cease. 

Check  thou  not  the  boy's  religion,  though  the 
branch  may  ramble  wild, 

Nurture  it  with  prayer  and  watching,  'tis  the  talis 
man  of  the  child, 

Charm  against  the  myriad  evils  which  the  path  of 
life  may  show, 

Glass  reflecting  lurking  vipers  where  the  flowers  of 
pleasure  glow, 

Finger  pointing  onward,  upward  through  the  mists 
that  cloud  our  way, 

To  where  God's  eternal  sunlight  drowns  all  doubt 
in  perfect  day, 

Where  our  hopings  find  fruition,  bliss  is  lost  in 
ecstasy. 

XV. 

What  a  pregnant  hour  for  boyhood  when  it  launches 

forth  in  life! 
Youth  is  past,  and  manhood  opening,  eager  to  begin 

the  strife ; 


44  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

Goal   of    young    ambition's    longings    thence   the 

chariot  race  to  run, 
O  how  smooth  the  course  appeareth,  brightly  shines 

the  unclouded  sun. 
Eagle-eyed   the    boy   looks   forward;   why   should 

obstacles  impede  ? 
Has  he  not  the  power  to  conquer,  wherefore  should 

he  not  succeed  ? 
O,  alas,  ho\v   slight  his  knowledge  of  the  barriers 

that  arise, 
What  the  dangers  to  be  compassed  ere  he  gain  the 

wished -for  prize  ! 
Youthful  trials   have  failed  to   teach  him,  in   this 

troublous  world  of  ours, 
Dregs  are  in  the  sweetest  nectar,  thorns  upon  the 

fairest  flowers. 
What  the  need  to  look  to  others ;  has  he  not  the 

will  to  do? 
Hope  is  whispering  of  the    future,   holding  some 

mirage  in  view. 
Some  fair  prospect,  bright  illusion,  leading  on  and 

ever  on, 
O  how  soon  the  straining  vision  only  looks  to  find 

it  gone  ! 
Why  should  he  in   manhood's  springtide  heed  that 

many  souls  have  failed, 
So  much  more  for  him  to  conquer  in  a  fight  where 

others  quailed ! 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  45 

Little  recks  he  how  their  envy  spreads  a  net  about 

his  feet, 
That  their  hidden  arts   are  working,  crafty  for  his 

own  defeat. 
Vain  advice  and  useless   warning,  if  he  win,  he 

gains  a  name, 
One  to  echo  ever  onward   through  the  clarion  of 

fame  ; 
If  he  fail,  he  sinks  forgotten  like  an  airy  morning 

dream, 
Worn,   defeated,    he    falls     backward,    gasping    in 

Time's  inky  stream, 

Where  some  darkened  wave  breaks  o'er  him,  blot 
ting  his  existence  out, 

As  a  tiny  boat  is  swallowed   in  a  swelling  water 
spout. 
Thus  the  life  of  many  passes  like  a  will-o-wisp  at, 

night, 
Flitting  o'er   Time's   oozy    marshes,  shining  for  a 

moment  bright, 

Then  dispersed,  an  empty  vapor,  vanishing  from 
sight. 


Over  Memory's  magic  mirror  figures  wander  now 

no  more, 
Past  within  the  present  merging  joins  the  now  to 

days  of  yore. 


46  LIFE    MEMORIES. 

As  the  snail  upon  the  window  prompts  a  low  mys 
terious  sound, 
Wondering  we   start  from  slumber,  gazing  wildly 

all  around, 
Yet   see    nothing    save   the    moonbeams    and    the 

shadows  of  the  trees, 
Shimmering  upon  the  carpet  to  the  fitful  evening 

breeze ; 
Then  as  creeping  back  to  slumber  thoughts  of  weird 

unearthly  things, 
Wondering  fancy  to  the  spirit  in  a  brimming  chalice 

brings  ; 

Sleep  or  wake,  our  nature  feedeth  on  a  strange  mys 
terious  food, 
Of  the  wonderful  that  might  be,  of  the  things  not 

understood. 
So    when    o'er   the    glass    of    Memory   acts    and 

thoughts  long  vanished  glide, 
A  shrill  music  wakes  the  spirit  from  the  rest  of 

eventide  ; 
Then  the  past  usurps  the  present,  and  the  moan  of 

wasted  days 
Floats  upon  the  spirit's  slumber  like  the  bittern's 

wailing  lays, 
Telling  tales  of  crumbling  ruins,  temples  half  en- 

gulphed  in  sand, 
All  o'ergrown  with  weeds  and  brambles,  scattered 

with  youth's  lavish  hand. 


LIFE    MEMORIES.  47 

In  those  silent  midnight  moments,  pale  Repentance 

at  the  door, 
Tells  those  ruins  may  be  builded,  the  wild  gardens 

bloom  once  more  ; 
But  the  soul  to  slumber  turneth,  leaves  the  past  with 

all  its  wrecks, 
Dreams  of  sunny  future  landscapes  which  no  cloud 

of  sorrow  flecks, 
And  awaking  to   the    present  some  new  flowery 

altar  decks. 
All  is  written  —  life's  experience  bound  in  scanty 

chains  of  rhyme, 
Bells  that  rang   at   sunrise   gaily,  now  in  golden 

evening  chime, 
Now  in  silence  rests  the  spirit  as  in  former  time. 


FUGITIVE    PIECES. 


THE  DEATH  OF  LOVE. 


WE  had  no  qnarrel ;  —  not  a  jarring  word 
E'er  floated  down  the  current  of  our  joy, 
The  summer  day  sped  as  in  by-gone  time, 
With  nought  to  mar  its  beauty,  and  the  trees 
Poured  their  rich  canopy  of  glistening  leaves 
Around  us  as  we  walked,  and  seemed  to  speak 
Jn  gentle  whispers  words  of  peace  and  love. 
Our  words  were  loving,  and  our  every  tone 
Seemed  swelling  with  a  depth  of  tenderness, 
Each  look  told  deep  affection,  yet  the  soul 
Grew  sick  and  lone,  but  why  we  could  not  tell. 
Then  day  by  day  as  still  we  met  the  same, 
A  gradual  coldness  seemed  to  pour  itself 
Upon  the  warmer  feelings  of  the  heart, 
And  check  affection's  buddings,  as  late  snow 
Chills  the  faint  blushings  of  the  apple  flower, 
And  blights  the  promise  of  the  dawning  spring. 
Then  the  sweet  tones  once  rilled  with  tenderness 
Grew  commonplace,  and  for  the  hand's  warm  grasp 
And  gentle  pressure,  came  a  formal  clasp, 


52  THE    DEATH    OF    LOVE. 

As  if  the  fingers'  ends  had  never  thrilled 

With  the  hot  current  at  a  loved  one's  touch. 

Our  thoughts  and  dreams,  which  erst  had  ever  run 

In  one  same  channel,  fringed  with  tender  flowers 

Of  fond  affection,  now  o'erflowed  the  bound, 

Uprooted  every  floweret,  and  outpoured 

To  wander  wild  in  common  paths  of  men. 

We  felt  the  change,  yet  might  not  stay  its  course, 

Knew  all  was  past,  and  gazed  upon  the  wreck, 

As  some  lone  sailor,  on  a  sea-beat  rock, 

Beholds  the  dull  insatiate  waves  engulph 

All  that  to  him  had  promised  future  hope ; 

Or  as  on  far  horizon's  distant  verge, 

He  views  some  welcome  sail,  which  larger  grows 

As  every  breeze  and  billow  wafts  it  on, 

Till,  just  as  eager  hope  has  soared  to  heaven, 

And  every  promise  of  salvation  blooms, 

The  ship  tacks  round,  sails  slacken,  then  refill, 

Hope  fadeth  in  the  vaulted  void  of  sky, 

And  sighing  billows  mock  his  feeble  moan. 

No  words  had  told  the  change,  yet  each  soul  knew 

Some  frost  had  blackened  the  young  flowers  of  love, 

And  then  the  snow  of  cold  indifference 

Fell  chill  upon  the  barren  garden  of  the  heart, 

To  seal  the  death  of  love. 

Yet  even  now, 

Tho'  years  have  hardened  all  that  once  was  young, 
Oft  tender  winds  of  longing  thaw  away 


THE    DEATH    OF    LOVE.  53 

The  snowy  rime,  and  as  on  Alpine  heights, 

When  spring's  soft  breezes  kiss  the  melting  snows, 

The  gentle  flowerets  bloom  on  icy  verge, 

Twining  a  wreath  for  the  cold  glacier's  brow, 

So  on  the  frozen  hill-sides  of  the  heart 

Still  gentle  flowers  may  bloom,  yet  only  serve, 

As  Alpine  blossoms  to  the  wanderer's  mind 

Call  recollections  of  his  sunnier  clime, 

To  tell  fond  memory  of  the  flowers  that  were 

The  spirit's  wreathings  in  the  long  ago. 


THE   OLD  ELM. 


I  LOVE  the  elm,  that  grand  old  tree, 
Its  waves  of  leafy  tracery, 
It  has  a  sacred  voice  for  me, 

To  lift  the  veil  of  by-gone  years, 
Dispel  the  mist  of  shading  tears, 
Of  bitter  doubts,  and  boding  fears. 

And  through  the  clouds  that  intervene, 

Displays  a  picture,  fair,  serene, 

In  the  bright  moments  that  have  been. 

I  see  in  vision  far  away, 

Six  merry  children  careless  play, 

As  blithesome  as  a  summer's  day. 

Four  with  dark  eyes  and  raven  hair, 
Seem  glow  of  sunnier  climes  to  wear, 
A  proud  bold  look  to  do  and  dare. 


THE    OLD    ELM.  55 

Two  with  fair  locks  and  azure  eye, 
Look  peace  and  calm  serenity, 
A  soul  at  rest,  yet  soaring  high. 

Unlike  in  action,  mien  and  air, 

Yet  all  had  claimed  one  mother's  care, 

Both  raven  lock  and  flaxen  hair. 

And  the  old  elm  'neath  which  they  play, 
Sings  to  each  soul  a  different  lay, — 
Yet  binds  them  all  in  harmony, — 

And  bending  down  each  leafy  tress, 
Seems  twining  all  in  loveliness, — 
A  gentle,  loving,  mute  caress. 

O  guardian  elm,  —  protecting  tree, 
Tell,  shall  each  coming  summer  see 
Each  soul  in  pristine  purity  ? 

Shall  gentle  flowerets  ever  dress 
Each  silken  lock  and  raven  tress 
To  gem  a  brow  of  comeliness  ? 

Tell  —  'twas  a  summer  zephyr's  sigh 
Fell  on  my  ear,  then  wandered  by, 
All  faded  in  obscurity. 


56  THE    OLD    ELM. 


II. 


Clouds  darkly  lowered,  then  all  was  night, 
It  brightened,  and  upon  my  sight 
Arose  the  vision  fair  and  bright. 

The  scene  the  same,  the  fond  old  tree 
Waved  its  young  leaves  in  gayety, 
To  breathe  a  welcome  unto  me. 

Yet  saddened  seemed  the  zephyr's  tone, 
From  the  old  tree  a  love  had  flown, 
The  five  played  on,  —  the  one  was  gone. 

And  in  the  children's  flowery  wreath 

Each  bud  had  felt  a  chilly  breath, 

And  mourned  as  it  had  gazed  on  death. 

And  the  old  tree  in  grief  profound 
Poured  rainy  tears  upon  the  ground, 
Whence  violets  sprung  up  all  around. 

A  cenotaph  of  Nature's  hue, 
With  architrave  of  heavenly  blue, 
In  spring's  young  breezes  ever  new. 


THE    OLD    ELM.  57 

Yet  as  I  gazed  I  seemed  to  see 
A  shade  of  dim  obscurity 
Floating  around  the  leafy  tree. 

The  angel  spirit  that  had  flown 
Seemed  pouring  a  rich  blessing  down, 
The  unseen  guardian  of  its  own. 

As  the  rich  benison  touched  each  flower, 
The  drooping  blossoms  owned  the  power, 
And  laughed  in  blessing  of  the  hour. 

It  circled  as  a  chaplet  blest, 
By  holy  angel  spirit  prest, 
Upon  each  lovely  brow  to  rest. 

And  as  the  clouds  swept  o'er  the  scene, 
My  spirit  owned  a  calm  serene, 
A  blessing  from  a  hand  unseen. 

The  old  elm  tree's  encircling  care 
Wound  in  its  arms  five  children  fair, — 
My  spirit  saw  another  there. 


THE    OLD    ELM. 


III. 


Years  passed  away:  I  gazed  once  more, 
The  scene  seemed  sadder  than  before, 
The  elm  drooped  downward  as  of  yore. 

Four  children  only  roved  below, 
Their  cheeks  had  lost  the  sunny  glow. 
The  wreath  had  faded  on  each  brow. 


And  from  the  old  tree's  leafy  tongue 
A  sad  and  solemn  dirge  was  sung, 
A  requiem  for  the  fair  and  young. 


A  frost  across  the  flowers  had  passed, 

A  sullen  cloud  a  shadow  cast, 

Whence  tears  of  rain  fell  thick  and  fast. 

Yet,  as  I  gazed  I  seemed  to  see 
Two  shades  of  dim  obscurity 
Floating  around  the  leafy  tree ; 

And  on  the  sombre  gloom  impinging, 
A  golden  beam  the  cloud  seemed  tinging, 
Its  dark  expanse  with  glory  fringing. 

And  floating  silent  in  mid  air, 

Two  angel  spirits  wondrous  fair, 

Raised  from  each  brow  the  shade  of  care. 


THE    OLD    ELM.  59 

And  the  dark  tears  which  dimmed  their  eyes 
Were  borne  as  jewels  angels  prize, 
To  form  the  coronets  of  the  skies. 

Once  more  the  wreaths  renewed  their  bloom, 
Shedding  o'er  all  a  blest  perfume, 
Glowing  the  fairer  from  the  gloom. 

And  the  old  tree  seemed  shining  bright 
With  diamonds  of  heavenly  light, 
As  its  boughs  tossed  in  airy  flight. 

The  gentle  flowers  the  influence  feel, 
And  on  the  cushioned  mosses  kneel 
In  thankfulness  for  heavenly  weal. 

The  clouds  swept  by,  the  scene  was  gone, 
But  to  my  spirit  breathed  a  tone  — 
"  The  loved  are  never  left  alone." 


IV. 


Years  passed  away,  —  I  gazed  once  more, 
The  scene  was  sadder  than  of  yore, 
The  elm  drooped  downward  as  before. 


60  THE    OLD    ELM. 

The  children,  grown  to  riper  years, 
Had  felt  the  weight  of  human  fears, 
And  drained  the  bitter  cup  of  tears. 

In  the  flower  garland  on  the  brow 

Full  many  a  briar  had  twined  its  bough, 

And  thorns  had  pierced  the  forehead  now. 

Each  face  was  changed :  the  world's  dull  care 
Had  left  its  wrinkled  traces  there, 
Yet  haloed  by  the  light  of  prayer. 

For  what  by  mother's  lips  was  taught 
In  early  youth  was  ne'er  forgot ; 
God's  love  had  cheered  each  bitter  lot. 

Bright  in  the  heaven  a  promise  bow 
Shed  on  each  soul  a  varied  glow, 
To  cheer  the  spirit  drooping  low. 

At  either  side  that  bow  to  rear, 
The  hope  to  loved  ones  toiling  here, 
The  two  blest  angel  forms  appear. 


THE    OLD    ELM.  61 

Soon  one  by  one  shall  flit  away 

To  join  the  angel  minstrelsy, 

Till  all  are  fled,  the  bow  shall  stay. 

And  as  the  children's  missions  cease, 
The  shadows  of  the  loved  increase, 
Till  all  are  found  in  perfect  peace. 

Till  all  shall  pass  from  here  to  there, 
Each  brow  a  heavenly  wreathing  wear, 
Till  praise  shall  swell  the  note  of  prayer. 

The  bow  shall  fade,  —  the  loved  are  fled, 

A  holy  band  of  blessed  dead, 

They  meet  where  love's  full  light  is  shed. 

And  leave  to  thee,  thou  fond  elm  tree, 

But  whisperings  of  memory 

To  breathe  in  silent  hours  to  me. 

Oct.  1857. 


62 


THE  DIAMOND. 


IN  a  darkened  dusty  alley 

Leading  from  the  busy  street, 
Where  the  sunbeam  never  shineth 
And  geraniums  in  the  window 

Stretch  and  blanch  its  ray  to  meet. 

At  a  window  dim  and  blackened 

Hung  with  cobweb  tracery, 
I  had  seen  one  working,  toiling, 
Worn  and  weary  from  the  working, 
Toiling  sorely  day  by  day. 

Yet  around  him  and  before  him 

Priceless  store  of  jewels  lay, 
The  lean  fingers  dipped  in  treasure, 
The  worn  face  bent  o'er  a  diamond 
Sparkling  with  its  costly  ray. 

Worn  the  look  and  bent  the  figure, 
Yet  upon  the  pallid  brow 


THE    DIAMOND.  63 

Beamed  a  holy  light  proclaiming 
Noble  thoughts  and  high  aspiring, 
By  some  heavy  weight  pressed  low. 

Once  again  the  diamond's  flashing, 

Dazzling  glanced  upon  my  eye, 
Where  the  dancers'  feet  were  flying, 
Where  the  laugh  and  jest  were  ringing, 
In  the  ball  room's  revelry. 

And  my  musing  thoughts  rose  upward, 

Shall  there  be  no  brighter  day 
For  the  soul  crushed  down  and  trodden 
By  the  iron  feet  of  labor 

In  the  alley  far  away  ? 

Shall  upon  the  dark  horizon 

No  fair  star  of  promise  rise, 
Must  the  heart's  pure  blossoms  wither, 
Fade  for  lack  of  sunny  shining, 

The  pure  influence  of  the  skies ! 

O  awake,  ye  men  of  action, 

Stewards,  look  ye  to  your  care, 
Lest,  though  earth  may  smile  upon  ye, 
In  the  realm  of  heavenly  glory 

The  poor  soul  excel  you  there ! 


64 


AUTUMN. 


WELCOME  thy  coming,  O  glorious  light, 
Catching  the  tresses  of  lingering  night, 
Long  hast  thou  tarried  while  minutes  fled  by, 
Yet  peeping  from  star  eyes  all  over  the  sky. 
Hail  for  the  asters  are  waiting  thy  power, 
And  the  autumn  born  crocus  just  ready  to  flower. 
Sleeps  while  the  breezes  'mid  blossoms  entwine, 
To  open  its  bud  to  no  fingers  but  thine. 
O'er  the  gay  earth  shed  thy  influence  abroad, 
Wakening  a  hymn  to  the  glory  of  God, 
While  autumn  rejoicing  a  coronet  weaves 
Of  the  ripening  grain  and  the  painted  leaves, 
And  shakes  from  the  flowers  of  her  tuberose  wand 
An  incense  of  perfume  all  over  the  land, 
Welcome,  O  gentle  light. 

Over  the  meadow  and  over  the  hill, 

Up  the  bare  mountain,  by  murmuring  rill, 

Where  the  wild  ivy  its  gay  tresses  flings, 

And  the  indian  pipe  in  the  barren  wood  springs. 


AUTUMN. 


O'er  the  low  meadows  where  blackberries  twine, 

Bathing  the  finger  like  leaves  of  the  pine, 

Lending  the  gentian  a  lovelier  blue, 

Parent  of  rain  drops,  and  father  of  dew, 

Clad  in  light  garments,  and  waving  around 

A  vapory  wand  in  night's  silence  profound, 

Illusive,  deceiving,  a  silvery  sheen, 

When  the  moon  on  the  brow  of  night's  goddess 

serene 

Sheds  a  radiance  fair,  so  the  earth  seems  to  ga/e 
From  an  ocean  of  lustrous  silvery  haze, 
Stealeth  the  autumn  mist. 

Creeping  so  silently  over  the  land, 
Shaking  a  powdery  dust  from  his  hand, 
Wrapping  the  glow  of  the  heliotrope's  light 
In  silvery  shrouding  of  spangling  white, 
Whispering  cold  to  the  murmuring  rill, 
To  the  river  reflecting  the  moonbeams  so  still, 
Tinging  the  forests  with  colorings  rare, 
Dropping  the  nuts  from  the  chestnuts  bare, 
Painting  each  leaf  in  a  gorgeous  dress, 
Hiding  its  death  in  its  loveliness, 
Telling  verbena  the  summer  is  flown, 
While  o'er  the  sad  balsams  a  shadow  is  thrown, 
Murmuring  of  icicles,  winter  and  snow, 
Twining  the  withering  leaves  for  his  brow, 
Breatheth  the  chilly  frost. 


66 


SELF-ABASEMENT. 


IN  early  youth's  ecstatic  day 

My  spirit  rose  so  high, 
I  thought  to  build  a  name  to  live 

To  all  futurity ; 
Yet  in  the  silence  of  the  night 

The  pitying  stars  gazed  down, 
And  smiled  upon  the  feeble  aims 

Men  worship  as  renown. 

I  wandered  in  the  whispering  wood, 

And  breathed  my  high  desires 
To  pines  which  had  for  ages  stood 

Like  solemn  minster  spires. 
And  their  long  fingers  raised  on  high, 

As  if  in  mockery, 
Told  they  had  seen  whole  races  die 

Long  ere  they  gazed  on  me. 


SELF-ABASEMEXT.  67 

By  ocean's  shore  I  breathed  my  wish, 

Whose  waves  tossed  far  on  high, 
Their  crests  of  seething,  snowy  foam, 

As  if  to  scale  the  sky. 
The  sky  sloped  downward  calm  and  still, 

To  meet  the  angry  sea, 
And  something  to  my  spirit  spoke, 

"  A  type,  vain  man,  of  thee." 

I  strove  for  fame,  but  Nature  vast 

Oppressed  my  rising  soul, 
1  owned  my  insignificance, 

To  bow  to  her  control ; 
And  now  my  spirit  owns  the  truth 

In  deep  humility, — 
I  feel  the  violet  that  I  crush 

Is  greater  far  than  I. 

I  kneel  amid  the  praying  flowers, 

I  worship  with  the  trees, 
And  turn  to  God,  as  young  leaves  turn 

To  catch  the  evening  breeze  ; 
Can  feel  an  influence  in  the  sky 

The  worldly  ne'er  may  know, 
A  beauty  others  ne'er  descry, 

A  beam  of  sunny  glow. 


SELF-ABASEMEXT. 

My  spirit  clings  to  Nature  as 

The  ivy  to  the  stone, 
By  myriad  secret  tendrils  which 

The  eye  may  not  discern ; 
Has  learnt  to  know  whatever  path 

The  wandering  feet  have  trod, 
Is  fringed  with  flowers  that  gaze  above, 

To  drink  the  smile  of  God. 

Oct.  1857. 


69 


THE  EIRST   SNOW. 


AUTUMN  had  bound  with  gold  the  sheaves, 
And  tinged  with  russet  hue  the  leaves, 
Then  cold  November's  winds  had  torn 
The  forest's  liveried  dress  in  scorn, 
And  long  dark  rains,  cheerless  and  drear, 
Had  sadly  wept  the  dying  year. 

The  cold  lone  wind  its  requiem  sung, 

Sighing  the  pine's  dark  boughs  among ; 

The  meadow  in  its  sombre  dress 

Forgot  its  summer  loveliness ; 

And  Nature  mourned,  bereaved  and  wild, 

Where  leaves  had  waved  and  blossoms  smiled. 

The  heavy  clouds  all  day  had  frowned 

Upon  the  sullen  frozen  ground 

Till  just  as  evening  called  the  day 

The  sun  broke  forth  with  flickering  ray, 

Then  sunk,  and  canopied  in  light, 

Left  earth  enwrapped  in  clouds  and  night. 


70  THE    FIRST    SNOW. 

As  the  long  evening  crept  away, 

We  whiled  the  hours  in  jests  and  play, 

Nor  heard  against  the  window  pane 

The  gentle  sister  of  the  rain  ; 

Nor  saw  the  snow,  the  wind's  new  guest, 

Lay  its  soft  cheek  on  earth's  hard  breast. 

Yet  in  the  morn  a  fairy  scene 
Arose  where  all  so  drear  had  been  ; 
We  wondered  how  the  sable  night 
Could  bear  a  babe  so  pure  and  white; 
And  the  bright  heaven  in  sunlight  smiled, 
In  blessing  on  the  new-born  child. 

Then  to  my  soul  some  sprite  of  air 
Breathed  silently  this  legend  fair; 
How  a  soul  mour-ned  that  sorrow's  power 
Had  withered  every  cherished  flower, 
Blasted  the  spirit's  bowers  of  bliss, 
Blackened  the  heart's  fair  comeliness. 

How  every  gentle  hope  seemed  dead, 
Each  glowing  joy  forever  fled, 
While  to  the  eye  the  future  years 
Seemed  shrouded  in  a  mist  of  tears ; 
Beneath  the  feet  were  blossoms  dead, 
Dark  inky  clouds  hung  black  o'erhead. 


THE    FIRST    SXOW.  71 

Then  burst  upon  the  spirit's  sight, 

A  little  flickering  ray  of  light; 

A  beam  of  hope  that  joy  might  be 

'The  guerdon  of  futurity, — 

Then  shadows  darkly  closed  around, 

Making  the  gloaming  more  profound. 

'Tvvas  but  a  little  hour  of  night, 
Ere  all  was  bathed  in  rising  light, 

O         O         I 

From  the  dark  sorrows  of  the  earth 
A  heavenly  child  had  sprung  to  birth, 
A  new-born  peace  on  sorrow's  breast 
Lulled  fear  to  calm,  and  doubt  to  rest. 

And  thus  I  mused;  —  each  bitter  ill 
Some  holy  child  engenders  still, 
And  from  the  deepest  of  our  woes 
The  holiest  of  our  blessings  flows, 
Though  sad  the  eve  and  dark  the  night, 
A  benison  comes  with  morning  light. 


72 


THE   ANGELS. 


I  SAW  two  angels  take  their  flight, 
And  both  were  dark  and  both  were  light, 
I  gazed  intently  as  to  see 
The  solving  of  the  mystery. 

Each  bore  a  vial  in  his  hand, 
And  each  a  magic  starry  wand ; 
Waved  each  alternate  to  and  fro, 
To  sow  the  germs  of  joy  or  woe. 

J  gazed,  but  still  the  mystery  grew 
As  changing  as  the  sunset's  hue, 
As  each  soared  silent  o'er  the  earth, 
To  bury  joy,  —  to  hope  give  birth. 

I  saw  the  sons  of  men  grow  pale, 
As  death  was  poured  upon  the  gale ; 
Some  smiling  died  with  outstretched  hand, 
I  knew  they  saw  the  starry  wand. 


THE    ANGELS.  73 

Again,  the  magic  starry  wand 
Gave  sorrow  none  could  understand, 
Why  should  prosperity  to  some 
Shadow  the  heart  in  deepest  gloom. 

To  others  when  the  vial  of  woe 
Blasted  their  fondest  hopes  below, 
A  holy  peace  seemed  brooding  round, 
As  they  the  starry  wand  had  found. 

To  some  each  wish's  full  success 
Brought  pain  instead  of  happiness  ; 
To  others  grief,  but  showed  a  soul 
Superior  to  its  control. 

"  Wherefore  this  miracle,"  cried  I, 
This  seeming  inconsistency  ? 
An  answer  came  from  voiceless  air> 
"  God's  mercies  double  aspects  wear, 

To  those  who  think  and  see  aright, 
The  darkest  hour  gleams  fair  with  light ; 
To  spirits  gazing  up  to  heaven, 
A  bright  reflected  glow  is  given. 

While  the  weak  nature  bound  to  earth, 
Grows  sad  and  anguished  in  its  mirth, 
5 


74  THE    ANGELS. 

And  from  the  tide  of  full  success 
Drains  deep  the  cup  of  bitterness. 

The  flying  angels  only  seem 
To  cast  a  shade  or  starry  gleam ; 
The  wand  and  vial  are  the  same, 
And  differ  only  in  the  name. 

The  trusting  eye  will  look  above, 
And  read  from  all  God's  changeless  love 
While  sceptic  vision  ne'er  may  see 
Aught  but  a  cloud's  obscurity.1' 


75 


THE   GRANDDAME. 


Bv  the  door  is  sitting  a  granddame  knitting, 
The  shadows  flitting  across  her  brow, 

But  her  face  it  is  pale  and  her  locks  in  the  gale 
Blow  wildly  around  like  an  April  snow. 

And  list,  she  cried,  to  a  youthful  bride, 
Who  in  modest  pride  was  standing  near, 

To  a  story  as  told  by  a  granddame  old, 

A  waif  from  the  shipwrecks  of  many  a  year. 

It  was  years  ago  that  upon  my  brow, 

(I  can  feel  them  now,  tho'  they  long  are  dead,) 

They  placed  the  white  flowers  of  the  marriage  hours 
In  the  wedding  garland  around  rny  head. 

And  the  hopes  of  youth,  and  the  dreams  of  truth, 
Knew  not  of  the  ruth  of  the  coming  years, 

And  the  eye  was  bright,  and  the  heart  was  light, 
Nor  thought  of  sorrow  nor  dreamed  of  tears. 


76  THE    GRANDDAME. 

As  the  blossoms  play  through  the  live-long  day, 
In  the  sunny  ray  was  my  spirit  glad; 

And  my  heart  tones  sung,  as  the  blue  bells  rung, 
A  song  unthinking  aught  could  be  sad. 

And  the  hours  sped  on,  merging  eve  in  morn, 
Until  years  were  gone,  yet  our  love  was  bright, 

Then  a  storm  of  pain  nursed  affliction's  rain, 
And  the  sun  grew  dark  in  a  murky  night. 

Hast  thou  seen  the  blight  of  a  frosty  night 
Enshroud  the  light  of  the  gentle  flowers  ? 

o  o 

So  a  shadowing  gloom  from  an  open  tomb 
Had  blackened  the  blossoms  of  early  hours. 

A  violent  grief  may  be  transient  and  brief, 
Oft  may  find  relief  from  the  balm  of  time; 

But  when  sorrow's  frost  o'er  the  heart  has  passed, 
O  what  smile  may  soften  the  icy  rime  ? 

Though  years  have  sped,  and  the  minutes  fled, 
Which  sorrowing  shed  on  my  early  hours, 

Still  my  heart  has  cherished  the  blooms  that  perish 
ed, 
The  faded  blossoms,  —  the  withered  flowers. 

But  a  flower  has  sprung  the  old  graves  among, 
Where  my  joy  I  hung  —  a  withered  bloom  — 


THE    GRA.NDDAME.  77 

Like  a  sacred  thing  its  petals  fling 

O'er  the  evening  of  life  a  sweet  perfume. 

And  its  odor  I  feel  o'er  the  senses  steal, 
Till  my  dreams  reveal  me  a  vision  fair, 

Of  a  glorious  scene  where  the  love  that  has  been 
Is  waiting  with  roses  to  crown  me  there. 

My  eyes  that  were  bright,  and  my  fingers  once 

white, 
Have  lost   their  soft   light  and  their  whiteness 

you  see ; 
But  my  spirit  still  young,  tells  the  moment  will 

come, 
When  the  vista  of  heaven  shall  open  to  me. 

O  beware,  she  cried,  to  the  youthful  bride, 
Lest  earth  may  hide  from  thy  loving  eyes, 

The  living  glow  which  is  cast  below, 
As  a  token  of  mercy  from  the  skies. 

For  the  laugh  will  fail,  and  the  cheek  grow  pale, 
And  care  will  assail  as  the  years  creep  on, 

Let  the  spirit's  flowers  bloom  for  future  hours, 
And  the  heart  may  smile  e'en  if  youth  be  gone. 


78 


CLOUD   TRACINGS. 


ON  a  towering  rock  I'm  sitting, 
And  the  billows  at  my  feet, 

The  waves  of  the  broad  Atlantic 
In  one  unbroken  sheet, 

Are  stretching  far  before  me, 
With  nought  to  let  or  meet. 

Far  in  the  broad  horizon 
Unnumbered  cloudlets  rise, 

And  creep  with  stealthy  footfall 
Up  the  staircase  of  the  skies, 

Casting  their  shadows  dark  or  faint 
On  the  sea  that  'neath  them  lies. 

Some  rise  so  light  and  airy 
They  leave  no  shade  behind, 

A  mantle  for  a  fairy, 

Or  a  sport  for  playful  wind  ; 

How  oft,  methinks  in  daily  life, 
Such  transient  souls  we  find. 


CLOUD    TRACINGS.  71) 

Others  a  broad  deep  shading 

Impress  upon  the  sea, 
Like  souls  which  print  in  heavy  tints 

The  world's  deep  destiny, 
Who  pass,  yet  leave  a  lasting  trace 

To  all  futurity. 

Fit  is  the  summer  cloudlet 

For  garments  fairies  twine, 
In  sunbeams  it  may  glory 

With  colors  all  divine ; 
But  to  leave  impress  on  the  world, 

Such  nobler  lot  be  mine. 


80 


SADNESS. 


()  MANY  may  sing  of  the  joys  of  Spring, 

Fresh  leaves  and  blooming  flowers, 
The  general  mirth  which  o'er  all  the  earth 

Breaks  forth  in  her  sunny  hours ; 
As  the  flowers  reply  to  the  breezes'  sigh, 

My  spirit  is  filled  with  pain, 
For  I  muse  on  the  flowers  of  other  hours, 

Which  never  may  bloom  again. 


When  the  grasses  look  from  some  sunny  nook 

And  hepatica's  cups  of  blue 
Spread  sapphires  rare  on  the  hill  side  bare, 

To  drink  in  the  April  dew  ; 
When  anemones  nod  o'er  the  mossy  sod 

To  the  uvallaria's  bell, 
They  sing  out  a  strain  of  bitterest  pain, 

To  my  soul  a  funeral  knell. 


SADNESS.  81 

'Twas  a  bright  spring  day  when  death  bore  away 

One  dearer  than  aught  can  be, 
'Twas  years  ago  that  we  laid  her  low, 

'Tis  as  yesterday  to  me  — 
Is  it  wonder  then  that  the  soul  can  ken 

No  joy  in  a  spring  tide  day, 
That  in  earth,  in  air,  yes  everywhere 

Breathe  notes  of  the  passed  away  ? 


8-2 


SEPTEMBER. 


'Tis  the  hazy  moon  of  an  autumn  clay, 
Ere  the  frost  has  kissed  the  flowers, 

And  the  south  wind's  lips  to  the  leaflets  say 

To  the  reddening  maples  far  away, 

To  the  beeches  that  close  'neath  my  window  play. 

To  the  sombre  pines  and  the  larches  gray, 
Bright  tales  of  the  summer  hours. 

The  lingering  smiles  of  the  summer  beam 

A  glow  o'er  the  ripening  leaf, 
Like  a  silver  mirror  reflects  the  stream, 
And  the  maples  o'erhanging  as  rubies  seem. 
Like  blood-red  rubies  in  silvery  glearn, 
While  the  forests  with  diamonds  of  dewdrop?  tecm; 

A  coronal  jewelled  wreath. 

And  the  shadows  dance  o'er  the  grassy  ground 

To  the  cricket's  noonday  trill, 
But  ne'er  in  the  depth  of  the  woods  profound. 


SEPTEMBER.  > 

By  the  brook  where  the  willows  weep  around, 
On  the  sunny  hillock  with  asters  crowned, 
Where  the  bluebirds  carolled  a  liquid  sound, 
May  we  list  their  warblings  still. 

'Tvvas  a  summer  hour  when  they  winged  their  flight, 

When  the  days  were  bright  and  fair, 
And  the  woods  were  gleaming  with  golden  light, 
When  the  stars  grew  to  earth  in  the  still  warm  night, 
We  did  not  feel  they  had  passed  from  sight, 
But  now  when  the  wood  in  its  shroud  is  dight, 
We  seek  for  them  everywhere. 

We  seek  for  the  music  to  pour  a  strain 

Of  joy  for  the  golden  year, 
A  hymn  of  joy  o'er  the  garnered  grain, 
O'er  the  liveried  trees  a  gay  refrain, 
A  triumphant  peal  o'er  the  surging  main, 
A  sweet  accord  to  the  autumn  rain, 

A  dirge  for  the  leaflets  sere. 

A  requiem  soft  o'er  the  flowers  that  died 

In  the  morning's  early  bloom, 
Long  ere  the  golden  rod  waved  in  pride, 
Or  the  sunflower  glowed  on  the  bare  hill  side, 
Ere  the  white  Nymphsea  like  a  weeping  bride 
In  purity  rose  on  the  river's  tide, 

With  a  chalice  of  sweet  perfume. 


H4  SEPTEMBER. 

In  vain,  —  they  have  fled  with  the  summer  flowers, 

Though  to  memory  still  they  sing, 
But  it  is  not  the  song  from  the  jasmin  bowers, 
The  nature  tone  which  each  sense  o'erpowers; 
Let  others  rejoice  in  the  autumn  hours, 
But  to  me  give  the  balm  of  the  April  showers, 

And  the  genial  days  of  Spring. 


85 


THE   SHADOW. 


A  SHADOW  moveth  at  my  side 

Unseen  to  all  around, 
Like  misty,  transient  forms  which  glide 
Up  the  bare  hills,  o'er  meadows  wide, 
Or  brood  above  the  ocean  tide, 

Forerunners  of  a  storm  ; 
At  mid  of  night,  at  noon  of  day, 

It  floateth  without  sound. 

I  hear  no  footfall  pattering, 

I  view  no  form  or  face, 
No  music  tones  responsive  ring, 
A  melody  words  may  not  sing, 
To  treasure  in  the  heart's  deep  spring, 

A  memory  evermore ; 
Yet  ever  gliding  by  my  path 

A  shadowy  cloud  I  trace. 


86  THE    SHADOW. 

At  dead  of  night  when  darkness  holds 

Worlds  shaded  'neath  her  hand, 
When  silence  in  a  veil  enfolds, 
And  subtle  sleep  our  fancy  moulds, 
So  that  the  wondering  eye  beholds 

A  magic  world  of  dream, 

I  feel  the  shade  I  may  not  see, 

Not  know,  or  understand. 

It  wakes  no  fear  of  present  harm, 

Forebodes  no  future  ill, 
My  spirit  sleepeth  soft  and  calm, 
As  if  some  sweet,  Lethean  balm, 
Or  melody  of  heavenly  psalm, 

Were  brooding  all  around; 
But  ne'er 'more  may  I  be  alone, 

What  time  or  place  I  will. 

Yet  oftentimes  I  dream  asleep 

A  gentle  one  was  mine ; 
Oft  on  my  waking  moments  creep 
Dull  heavy  pains,  benumbing  deep, 
The  tears  o'erflow,  in  grief  I  weep 

For  sense  of  something  gone; 
My  fingers  leave  the  flowers  of  now 

The  past's  dead  buds  to  twine. 

And  then  perchance  the  spirit  tells, 
In  whisper  soft  and  low, 


THE    SHADOW.  87 

A  golden  legend  which  upswells 
Far  in  the  depth  of  Memory's  dells, 

'Neath  mosses  of  the  past, 
A  legend  manna  for  the  soul, 

A  tale  of  long  ago. 

And  then  the  spirit  rises  high, 

To  live  life  o'er  again, — 
Young  it  looks  upward  to  the  sky, 
With  hoping  gilds  uncertainty, 
Dreams  not  fair  hope  may  die, 

Or  trembling  sink  to  earth  ; 
A  summer  flower,  it  seeks  the  sun, 

Unthinking  of  the  rain. 

Alas,  that  bitter  rain  of  woe 

That  dashed  the  flowers  to  earth! 

The  call  which  bade  our  fairest  go, 

The  frost  that  laid  our  lily  low, 

Chilled  the  fair  bud  with  early  snow, 
Ere  the  bright  flower  could  bloom, 

And  left  a  void  within  our  hearts, 
A  requiem  in  our  mirth. 

She  left  me  many  a  gift  below, 

Remembrance  to  abide  ; 
A  golden  smile  in  sunset  glow, 
A  perfume  where  the  violets  blow, 


88  THE    SHADOW. 

And  where  the  winds  roam  to  and  fro, 

A  soft  ./Eolian  lay  ; 
But  best  of  all  her  spirit  left 

The  shadow  at  my  side. 

Sept.  12,  1857. 


89 


THE    HAUNTED   HOUSE. 


THE  old  brown  house  on  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
With  its  sentinel  poplars  stiff  and  still, 
How  sadly  it  looms  in   the  moonlight  gray, 
With  the  crumbling  rafters  falling  away  ; 
And  the  tall  grass  waving  around  the  door, 
To  the  cricket  that  chirps  on  the  parlor  floor, 
While  the  katydid  trills  out  a  mournful  lay, 
A  song  of  the  past  and  the  passed  away. 

O  woodbine  green  on  the  mouldering  wall, 

Ye  guardian  poplars  stern  and  tall ; 

O  crumbling  relics  of  by-gone  years, 

O  tell  me  your  secret  of  hopes  and  fears  ; 

Breathe  to  the  night  air  and  wandering  wind 

The  legends  of  story  by  ages  entwined  ;  — 

The  mysterious  story  of  ruin  and  ill, 

Of  the  old  brown  house  on  the  brow  of  the  hill. 

Methinks  there's  a  voice  in  the  poplar  trees, 
And  a  low  soft  wail  on  the  evening  breeze ; 
6 


90  THE    HAUXTED    HOUSE. 

List,  hearken  !  the  clock  strikes  the  midnight  hour, 
And  the  past  rushes  back  with  mysterious  power  ! 
The  house  —  how  it  gleameth  afloat  with  light ! 
()  merry's  the  bridal  that  rideth  to-night, 
That  turneth  away  from  the  chancel  wide, 
To  the  old  brown  house  on  the  green  hill  side. 

But  list  to  the  musical  notes  that  swell 
Far  over  the  valley  and  roll  through  the  dell ! 
Ne'er  again  may  we  list  such  a  fairy  tone, 
As  from  phantom  harpers  of  years  long  gone. 
And  the  old  wives  tell  that  the  ears  that  hear 
These  ghostly  musicians  play  tuneful  and  clear, 
Forever  more  listen  to  catch  on  the  wind 
Some  echo  of  music  they  ne'er  may  find  ; 

That  those  mortals  who  look  on  that  bridal  train, 

The  beauty  of  earth  never  gaze  at  again. 

See,  see,  up  the  dell  ride  the  bridal  pair ! 

No  daughter  of  earth  shines  so  wondrous  fair, 

The  white  rose  blushes  and  lilies  die 

On  a  brow  with  whose  whiteness  they  may  not  vie ; 

And   her  hair  jasmin   decked    floweth   down    her 

neck, 
As  a  midnight  sky  which  the  bright  stars  deck. 

Her  eyelashes  seem  like  a  shadow  laid 
On  gardenia's  petal, — a  delicate  shade; 


THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE.  91 

Her  eyes  gleam  as  soft  as  a  pearl  of  dew, 

Where  beams  of  bright  sunshine  pour  through  and 

through  ; 

Her  lips  like  begonia's  coral  shell, 
Breathe  odors  of  kisses  and  O3nomel ; 
Her  person  the  form  Aphrodite  wore 
When    she  sprung   from   the  foams  on  Cythera's 

shore. 

They  enter  the  house,  how  the  dancing  entwines 
Each  fairy-like  figure  in  mazy  lines  ! 
And  the  song  pours  forth,  and  the  red  wine  speeds, 
Still  for  each  new  moment,  new  joy  succeeds ; 
Till  the  stars  sink  low  from  the  night  hours  gone. 
And  the  house  in  the  moonbeams  sleeps  alone ; 
While  the  trees  long  shadows  wave  to  and  fro, 
And  the  moonbeams  in  argent  ripplings  flow. 

Hark!  what  a  shriek  broke  the  midnight  air! 

A  wail  of  anguish,  a  cry  of  despair ; 

See,  past  the  windows,  white  figures  glide, 

O  Father  in  heaven  behold  the  bride  !  — 

They  have  raised  her  up  from  the  moonlit  ground, 

Arid  her  pale  lips  tremble  but  breathe  no  sound  ; 

While  her  hair  streameth  wild  like  the  woodbine's 

tress, 
When  the  autumn  frost  steals  its  comeliness. 


92  THE    HAUX1ED    HOUSE. 

Ah,  never  again  may  those  lips  unclose, 

To   breathe   the   dread   secret    no   mortal    tongue 

knows ; 

The  bridegroom  is  vanished ;  alas,  who  may  see 
To  fathom  the  secret,  the  dark  mystery  ? 
For  a  mist  from  the  grave  settles  sadly  on  all, 
And  uncertainty  shrouds  the  dark  house  in  a  pall : 
Swift  the  guests  shrink  away  with  foreboding  of  ill, 
Leaving  silent  and  lone  the  brown  house  on  the  hill. 

All  is  silent  and  drear  !  the  long  years  fled  away, 
And  its  tenants  are  loneliness,  mould  and  decay ; 
The  lone  villager  passing  at  nightfall  the  dell, 
Holds  some  talisman  the  closer,  or  mutters  a  spell ; 
The  windows  are  broken  and  tapestries  flap, 
As  a  nest  for  the  moth,  or  a  lurk  for  the  bat ; 
Rank  weeds  fill  the   pathway,  or  flaunt  o'er  the 

eaves, 
Where  the  spider  his  web  all  in  solitude  weaves. 

It  is  only  on  Midsummer  evening  I  ween, 

That  the  fairy-like  bridal  by  mortal  is  seen  ; 

Yet  pale  phantoms  glide  when  the  winter  winds 

roar, 
When  the  autumn's  chill  gusts  pile  the  leaves  on 

the  floor. 


THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE.  93 

O  traveller  passing  at  midnight  the  hill, 
Pluck  a  sprig  of  the  rowan  to  guard  thee  from  ill ; 
Raise  a  prayer  for  the  erring,  ne'er  pausing  to  see, 
Where  the  brown  house  is  resting  in  dread  mystery. 


94 


THE   MAN   IN  THE  MOON 

A    LEGEND    OF    NORTH    GERMANY. 

IN  rosy  tinted  clouds  the  day 
O'er  western  hills  had  sunk  away, 
And  rising  from  the  eastern  sea, 
The  moon  in  full  orbed  purity 
Gazed  down  on  me. 

Mellowed  the  grass  and  leaflets  green, 
Till  forest  shone  in  silver  sheen ; 
Spread  costly  jewels  o'er  the  ground 
Each  tender  flower  bud  all  around 
With  diamonds  bound. 

Yet  ever  in  the  moon's  bright  beam 
I  see  the  mystic  features  gleam 
Of  him,  who  standing  ever  there, 
May  know  no  mercy,  raise  no  prayer 
To  soothe  despair. 


THE    MA.N    IN    THE    MOON.  95 

Who  on  that  day  which  God  has  given 
For  rest  from  toil  in  earth  and  heaven, 
Unmindful  of  the  Sabbath  bell, 
Went  forth  into  the  forest  dell, 
Brushwood  to  fell. 

Him  on  the  way  the  Saviour  met ; 
"  A  moment,  friend,  dost  thou  forget 
The  heavenly  words  the  writings  say, 
Remember  thou  the  Sabbath  day 
Due  reverence  pay  ?  " 

Answered  the  churl  in  scornful  mirth, 
"  Whether  'tis  Sunday  on  the  earth, 
Or  Moonday  in  the  skies  we  see, 
Say,  of  what  matter  can  it  be 
To  thee  or  me  ?  " 

Then  all  disguise  the  Saviour  broke, 
Thus  the  God  voice  in  thunder  spoke  : 
"  Since  thus  in  railing  thou  dost  live, 
Foul  jesting  for  reproof  dost  give, 
Thy  doom  receive. 

Forevermore  till  time  shall  end, 
Eternal  Moonday  shalt  thou  spend  ; 
Stand,  as  thou  art,  in  heaven,  a  sign, 
A  monument  of  wrath  divine, 
Till  end  of  time. 


96  THE    MAN    IN    THE    5IOOX. 

Since  Sabbaths  are  profaned  by  thee, 
Be  thou  to  all  futurity 
A  warning  to  all  such  as  dare 
Profane  the  holy  hours  with  care, 
Heedless  of  prayer." 

Thus  ever  in  the  moon's  bright  beam 
I  see  the  mystic  features  gleam 
Of  him,  who  standing  ever  there, 
May  know  no  mercy,  raise  no  prayer 
To  soothe  despair. 


97 


SNOW. 


O'ER  the  wood  and  o'er  the  meadow, 
Flake  by  flake  the  snow  descends, 
Till  the  autumn's  varied  color 
In  one  mass  of  whiteness  blends, 
As  if  heaven  its  cloudy  garments 
To  the  naked  woodland  lends. 


II. 

On  the  soul  bereaved  and  lonely 
Gently  falls  Time's  soothing  snow, 
Burying  the  withered  blossoms 
In  the  drifts  of  long  ago; 
Pouring  chrism  o'er  the  spirit, 
Softened  radiance  on  the  brow. 


98 


HOPE  AND  FAITH. 


THE  night  is  gloaming  o'er  the  vale, 

Yet  on  the  distant  hill 
The  hemlocks  gazing  unto  heaven, 

Beam  in  the  sunlight  still. 
So  in  my  soul  when  gloomy  doubts 

Cast  shadows  deep  below, 
Let  some  fair  tree  of  hope  upspring 

To  catch  the  heaven's  glow. 

The  moon  is  shining,  glimmering 

Through  heavy  cloudy  rifts, 
Which  block  the  far  horizon's  verge 

In  leaden  sombre  drifts. 
So  from  my  heart  when  shading  woes 

Wrap  hope  in  sombre  shroud, 
May  some  bright  ray  of  faith  dart  forth 

To  pierce  the  gloomy  cloud. 


99 


THE    NIGHT. 


I  SIT  at  my  window 

And  gaze  through  the  night, 
While  the  wild  autumn  leaves 

Brush  the  blinds  in  their  flight, 
And  the  far  city  gleams 

With  an  halo  of  light. 

The  window  pane  weeps  with 
The  cold  autumn  rain, 

And  the  wind  sadly  moans 
Like  a  spirit  in  pain, 

As  if  flowerets  were  gone, 
Ne'er  to  blossom  again. 

My  spirit  resembles 
The  cold  sighing  wind, 

And  it  weeps  like  the  rain 
For  the  flowers  left  behind, 

And  mourns  o'er  the  garlands 
The  past  has  entwined. 


100  THE    NIGHT. 

Bat  the  spring  tide  shall- come 
To  waken  the  flowers, 

A  morn  to  the  spirit 

All  the  brighter  for  showers, 

A  glowing  effulgence 

Of  sunbeam  wreathed  hours 


101 


THE    SUMMIT. 


I  STAND  on  the  mountain  summit, 
And  the  villages  white  outspread, 

Seem  sinking  to  sleep  in  the  quiet  woods 
Which  canopy  overhead ; 

And  the  tall  church  spires  shooting  up  on  high, 

Seem  calling  a  benison  down  from  the  sky. 

I  the  summit  of  life  am  treading, 

On  the  mountain's  thick  wooded  side 

Sleep  many  thought-villages  peeping  through, 
Where  glowing  feelings  hide  ; 

But  alas,  with  no  spire  to  shoot  up  on  high, 

To  call  the  rich  benison  down  from  the  sky. 


102 


THE    HEAVENS. 


To  the  vaulted  midnight  heaven 

As  I  gaze  with  the  feeble  eye, 
How  bright  each  little  orb  shines  out 

On  the  blackness  of  the  sky  ! 
Bat,  O  what  scenes  of  wonder, 

Where  all  was  dark  before, 
When  the  magic  glass  reveals  the  depth 

Of  the  heaven's  hidden  store. 

In  the  sky  of  life  are  shining 

Bright  stars  for  the  feeblest  sight, 
To  beam  upon  the  poorest  mind, 

And  the  lowliest  paths  to  light ; 
Yet  untold  store  of  knowledge, 

To  watching  souls  is  brought, 
When  the  heaven  of  life  is  gazed  upon 

Through  the  telescope  of  thought. 


103 


MOURNING. 


A  LITTLE  rosy  tinted  cloud 

Just  at  the  close  of  day, 
Mourned  that  so  soon  its  sunny  life 

Must  fade  in  night  away. 

Outspake  a  voice  —  "  O  little  cloud, 

Grieve  not  that  thou  must  die, 
Thy  tears  shall  fall  but  thou  shalt  live, 
And  fruitful  golden  blessings  give 
In  earth's  fertility." 

A  mourner  wept  a  loved  one  gone 

To  wander  with  the  dead, 
Saw  not  the  glorious  spirit  flown 

To  holier  realms  o'erhead. 

An  angel  spake  —  "  Thou  saddened  one, 

For  thee  a  bliss  is  given, 
Thy  love  of  earth  was  all  too  fond, 
Now  the  freed  soul  may  soar  beyond, 

And  build  its  hope  in  heaven." 


101 


NATURE. 


MY  mind  is  like  some  sullen  harp, 
Whose  master  soul  is  gone  ; 

Whose  strings  hang  listlessly  and  mute, 
Waiting  some  breeze  of  song. 

O  that  a  wind  of  mighty  power 

Would  burst  upon  the  air ; 
And  sweeping  o'er  the  sullen  chords, 

Could  wake  the  music  there. 

My  tongue  could  sing  the  notes  I  feel, 

Sweet  melodies  that  thrill 
Responsive  to  each  nature  tone, 

And  all  my  being  fill. 

The  deep  strong  feeling  that  the  grand, 

The  beautiful  and  free, 
In  Nature  kindles  in  my  soul 

An  unsung  ecstasy. 


NATURE.  105 

Could  paint  in  words  the  glowing  scenes 

In  Hope's  young  day  so  rife, 
Bid  Music's  magic  numbers  tell 

The  poetry  of  life. 

Write  the  sweet  song  the  violets  sing, 

The  epics  of  the  sod, 
Frame  words  for  thousand  prayers  that  spring 

From  blossoms  up  to  God. 

For  me,  I  ask  no  laurel  wreath, 

Or  claim  no  myrtle  crown  ; 
Content  fair  Nature's  breeze  to  breathe, 

My  chaplet,  her  renown. 

I  crave  not  hoarded  wealth  of  words, 

Or  stores  from  ages  gone  ; 
Enough  that  Nature  be  my  muse, 

Her  myriad  notes  my  song. 


106 


SONGS. 


THE  songs  that  I  would  be  singing, 

Are  wandering  through  my  brain, 
And  my  spirit  often  wonders 

If  it  ever  will  sigh  in  vain ; 
Will  sigh  for  some  note  of  music, 

To  lift  its  fair  thoughts  on  high, 
Some  chord  that  may  breathe  to  the  listen 
ing  world 

The  depth  of  its  ecstasy. 

Yet  sometimes  in  midnight  silence 

A  vision  reveals  to  me 
A  starlight  of  golden  pleasure, 

In  the  night  of  futurity ; 
A  breath  that  shall  wake  my  music, 

A  spirit  to  tune  my  strain, 
Assurance  to  tell  to  the  saddening  soul 

Its  longings  are  not  in  vain. 


107 


SHADOWS. 


NAY,  chide  me  not  because  a  shade 

Athwart  my  life  is  thrown, 
The  sullen  cloud  may  hide  the  sun, 
But  does  the  brook  less  gaily  run, 

Because  its  light  is  gone  ? 

What  if  my  fairest  flowers  of  life 

In  memory  only  bloom, 
Do  we  prize  autumn  blossoms  less, 
Because  they  lack  the  loveliness 

Of  rose  entwining  June  ? 

Some  blossoms  only  bloom  in  shade, 

Or  when  bright  days  are  flown, 
So  dear  to  me  are  saddened  hours 
Perfumed  from  fields  of  Memory  flowers, 
Flowers  long  ago  mine  own. 


108 


DEAD   BLOSSOMS. 


THERE'S  a  shadow  that  sits  by  the  fireside, 
Though  its  presence  we  ne'er  may  see, 

Till  it  summons  the  loveliest  round  the  hearth 
To  the  realms  of 'uncertainty. 

O  shadow  that  sat  at  my  fireside  hearth, 
Thou  hast  bitterly  dealt  with  me. 

There's  a  phantom-like  gardener  walketh 
Where  our  loveliest  blossoms  grow  ; 

There's  a  heavy  and  saddening  measure 
In  our  music's  loftiest  flow. 

From  my  garden  the  fairest  of  flowers  is  gone, 
And  my  song  is  a  dirge  of  woe. 


109 


ADORATION. 


Go  forth  into  the  meadow, 

Or  wander  in  the  wood, 
Stand  on  worn  rocks  where  ocean  pours 

Its  seething,  ceaseless  flood. 

Count  the  white  waves  replying ; 

Learn  how  the  flowerets  grow, 
The  meanest  blossom  reads  to  thee 

"  Enough  for  man  to  know." 

Turn  to  the  starry  heavens 

So  dimly  understood, 
See  countless  orbs  together  move 

In  perfect  aptitude. 

'Tis  not  in  formal  ritual, 

Or  aisles  by  custom  trod, 
Where'er  it  turns,  in  great  or  small, 

The  pure  soul  worships  God. 


110 


THE    CONTRAST. 


THE  music  of  the  seaside 

And  the  dashing  of  the  spray, 
The  huge  waves  grinding  on  the  beach 

Dark  boulders  worn  and  gray, 
I  leave  to  those  who  love  them, 

But  deeper  joy  is  mine 
In  the  vastness  of  the  forest 

Where  the  clinging  grape-vines  twine. 

The  sighing  of  the  breezes 

'Mid  the  ancient  mossy  trees, 
Is  to  me  a  sweeter  music 

Than  the  murmur  of  the  seas ; 
And  the  robins  sweetly  singing 

Through  all  the  livelong  day, 
Sound  to  my  ear  far  dearer 

Than  the  dashing  of  the  spray. 


THE    CONTRAST.  1  1  1 

'Tis  true  that  all  is  Nature 

On  sea  beach  or  in  wood, 
Presenting  aspects  harsh  or  soft 

To  suit  each  varying  mood ; 
But  my  spirit  blends  with  Nature 

In  union  more  divine, 
In  the  vastness  of  the  forest 

Where  the  clustering  boughs  entwine 


112 


THOUGHTS. 


THE  harp  of  my  life  is  trembling 
With  a  breeze  of  the  by-gone  time, 

In  its  low  sad  notes  resembling 
The  peal  of  a  distant  chime  ; 

O  would  that  the  spirit's  voice  could  break 
In  a  passionate  burst  of  rhyme ! 

For  myriad  thoughts  are  welling 
From  the  spirit's  enchanted  spring, 

And  mysterious  tunes  are  swelling 
With  a  might  that  must  take  wing; 

And  perhaps  in  the  future's  untried  path, 
The  spirit  may  soar  and  sing. 


113 


ALONE. 


ALONE  in  my  room  while  the  midnight  hour 
Peals  sullen  and  long  from  the  old  church  tower. 

Alone  in  my  room  while  the  clock-beats  tell 
How  the  minutes  are  speeding  past  hours  to  swell. 

Alone  in  my  room  while  the  moon's  pale  beam 
Flows  close  at  my  feet  in  an  argent  stream. 

Alone  in  my  room  while  the  embers'  ray 
Shines  brightly,  then  flickers  in  darkness  away. 

Alone  in  my  room  while  my  fancy  dreams 
How  man  ever  basks  in  two  quickening  gleams. 

The  one  his  own  will  and  its  changing  hue, 
Like  the  flickering  light  which  the  embers  threw. 

The  other  a  holier  radiance  given, 

As  the  moonbeams  constant;  the  smile  of  Heaven. 


114 


A  WINTER   SCENE. 


THE  snow  had  fallen  all  the  night, 

And  earth  at  morning  lay 
Dressed  in  a  bridal  robe  of  white, 

To  greet  the  coming  day. 

The  oaks  their  long  gray  fingers  shook 

Above  the  holly  green, 
Whose  leaves  and  berries  shining  look 

As  gems  in  silver  sheen. 

Far,  o'er  the  river's  frozen  breast 
The  north  wind  bloweth  keen ; 

Near,  flocks  of  piping  snow  birds  rest 
Amid  the  evergreen. 

All  silence,  save  from  yonder  farm 
Some  heifer's  plaintive  low, 

Nought  to  disturb  the  solemn  calm, 
To  stain  the  trackless  snow. 


A    WINTER    SCENE.  115 

Bright  are  the  days  of  summer's  pride, 

And  fairly  bloom  her  flowers, 
But  purer  seems  the  winter  tide, 

Brighter  its  sunny  hours. 


116 


HOPES. 


SADLY  moaneth  the  winter's  breeze 

Through  the  drooping  arms  of  the  old  elm  trees. 

Sadly  respondeth  the  heart's  sad  lays, 
Attuned  to  the  music  of  by-gone  days. 

Dashing,  weeping,  the  winter's  rain 
Falls  off  in  tears  from  the  window  pane. 

And  my  eyes  are  dim  with  the  drops  of  woe, 
As  the  heart's  sad  surges  ebb  and  flow. 

Rustling  the  vines  o'er  the  trellis  blow, 
Waving  their  tresses  to  and  fro. 

In  the  heart's  fair  garden  a  tender  vine 
O'er  a  trellis  of  hopes  had  begun  to  twine. 

And  the  eye  was  bright,  and  the  heart  was  glad, 
As  the  desolate  walls  were  with  verdure  clad. 


HOPES.  117 

And  the  fragrant  blossoms  a  perfume  threw, 

As  the  leaves  spread  broad  and  the  branches  grew. 

At  night  it  was  fair,  but  at  morn  lay  dead, 
For  the  frost  of  death  had  breathed  overhead. 

The  hopes  were  bare,  for  the  love  had  flown, 
And  the  breeze  may  rustle  dead  leaves  alone. 

And  the  eyes  are  dim  with  the  drops  of  woe, 
As  the  heart's  sad  surges  ebb  and  flow. 


118 


GOD   DREW  THE   WORLD. 


GOD  drew  the  world  with  artist  hand, 

Replete  with  light  and  beauty, 
And  man  the  lines  might  understand, 

Did  he  but  do  his  duty ! 
God  drew  in  lines  of  living  light, 

From  morn  to  evening  fading, 
Bat  left  to  man  to  fill  aright 

Each  scene  with  proper  shading. 

Alas,  how  few  the  scenes  we  see, 

As  Heaven's  own  mind  has  kenned  them ! 
How  oft  our  fancy  roaming  free, 

Some  false  perspective  lends  them  ! 
Thick  mists  and  darkening  clouds  arise 

And  blur  the  landscape  over, 
The  heavenly  lines  escape  our  eyes, 

Which  seldom  we  recover. 

And  so  from  year  to  year  we  trace, 
With  strange  infatuation, 


GOD   DREW    THE    WORLD.  119 

Lines  whose  dark  shadings  but  deface 

God's  beautiful  creation ; 
We  view  the  picture  in  the  ray 

Of  pride  and  self-laudation, 
While  angels  weep  in  heaven's  own  day 

At  the  disfiguration. 

God  drew  the  world  with  artist  hand 

Replete  with  light  and  beauty, 
And  man  the  lines  could  understand, 

Did  he  but  do  his  duty  ! 
If  to  the  sky  and  less  to  earth 

His  artist  hours  were  given, 
True  light  and  shade  of  angel  worth 

Might  tint  the  scene  from  heaven. 


120 


HOW  GROW  THE  LEAVES'? 


How  grow  the  leaves  in  the  summer's  night, 
'Neath  the  twinkling  beams  of  the  pale  star  light' 
When  the  cricket's  chirp  in  the  springing  grass, 
And  the  flowers  bend  down  as  the  breezes  pass, 
When  the  firefly  wings  with  her  golden  lamp, 
And  the  frogs  sing  shrill  in  the  meadows  damp  ? 
How  grow  the  leaves  ? 

How  dash  the  waves  on  the  rocky  shore, 
With  an  ever  monotonous,  ceaseless  roar  ? 
Sapping  the  rock  with  continuous  swell, 
Yet  wafting  the  boat  of  some  delicate  shell, 
Foaming  and  mighty  and  changing  and  grand, 
How  dash  the  waves,  can  ye  understand  ? 
How  dash  the  waves  ? 

How  move  the  winds  thro'  the  trees'  tall  plumes  ? 
How  shed  the  blossoms  their  sweet  perfumes  ? 
How  gleam  the  grain  fields  with  golden  light  ? 
How  glows  the  fruit  with  its  colors  bright  ? 


HOAV    GROW    THE    LEAVES?  121 

How  comes  the  night  with  its  starry  train  ? 
Who  sheddeth  the  dew  and  distilleth  the  rain? 
Whence  do  they  spring  ? 

From  the  guardian  hand  of  a  mighty  power, 
Who  ruleth  the  ocean,  and  tinteth  the  flower, 
Who  nurseth  the  bud  and  the  tree's  young  frond, 
Who  coloreth  the  fruit  and  the  grain's  green  wand, 
Omniscient,  the  smallest  are  ne'er  forgot, 
And  though  all  may  change,  yet  He  changeth  not, 
Forever  the  same. 


122 


HEB.  IV.  10. 


SHE  has  entered  to  her  rest, 

All  her  sorrows  past, 
Perfect  peace  its  crown  hath  prest 

On  her  brow  at  last. 

Long  and  wearily  she  toiled, 
Draining  sorrow's  bowl ; 

Grief  each  high  desire  had  moiled, 
Pain  oppressed  the  soul. 

Yet  her  eye  gleamed  ever  bright 

From  some  hid  desire, 
As  a  crystal  star  at  night 

Shines  from  unseen  fire. 

Toil  and  sorrow  now  are  o'er, 

Weariness  at  peace ; 
Trouble  billows  vex  no  more, 

Sin's  wild  dashings  cease. 


HEB.  IV.    10. 

Long  and  wearily  the  way 
To  her  home  she  trod, 

Now  it  fades  in  perfect  day 
In  the  rest  of  God. 


123 


ABIDE   WITH   US. 


ABIDE  with  us,  the  shadows  of  the  evening 

Slant  from  the  golden  chambers  of  the  west, 
The  pale  sad  night  its  convent  cloister  leaving, 

Calls  dewdrops  forth  to  gem  the  rose's  breast. 
The  darkness  thickens  o'er  the  dim  horizon, 

Blest  Saviour  let  thy  blessed  light  abide, 
Thy  presence  near,  no  fear  of  ill  arising, 

Secure  we  wait  the  dawn  of  morning  tide. 

Abide  with  us,  the  spirit  of  the  sun  god 

Pours  floods  of  light  upon  a  waking  world, 
From  heaven's  field  the  armies  of  the  evening 

Retreat  in  sullen  ranks  with  banners  furled ; 
Around  my  path  the  snares  of  sin  are  lying, 

Thy  warning  voice  may  bid  the  soul  beware, 
Alone,  the  fainting  soul  sinks  weak  and  dying. 

Let  thy  bright  sunshine  gild  the  clouds  of  prayer. 

Abide  with  us,  the  noonday  sun  is  blazing 
To  coronet  with  gold  the  floweret's  cup, 


ABIDE    WITH    US.  125 

The  heliotrope  to  greet  its  ray  is  gazing, 
The  golden  purslane  to  its  God  looks  up; 

Yet  in  the  glory  shading  ills  around  me, 

Cast  deadening  ashes  on  the  heart's  pure  fires, 

Let  thy  blest  influence,  dearest  Lord,  surround  me, 
The  flame  mounts   heavenward  with  renewed 
desires. 

Abide  with  me,  cold  shadows  o'er  me  creeping 

Benumb  the  senses,  deaden  every  power, 
A  finger  points  to  where  the  dead  are  sleeping, 

Jesus,  my  Saviour,  aid  me  in  this  hour ; 
Abide  with  me,  till  death's  dark  night  unclosing 

The  radiant  morning  of  eternity, 
My  spirit  on  thy  loving  breast  reposing, 

Exultinar  rises  to  abide  with  thee. 


126 


THE  HOUSE  ACROSS  THE  WAY. 


SITTING  nightly  at  my  window, 

I  had  watched  a  feeble  ray, 
Darting  through  the  half  closed  casement 

Of  the  house  across  the  way. 

Little  knew  I  of  the  inmates, 

What  their  station  nought  could  say, 

We  lived  with  a  world  between  us, 
Yet  'twas  only  'cross  the  way. 

There  they  said  on  bed  of  anguish 

A  fair  child  of  promise  lay, 
Told  that  suffering  made  her  dwelling 

In  the  house  across  the  way. 

Then  by  kindly  feelings  prompted, 
There  I  sent  a  choice  bouquet, 

And  a  blessed  smile  seemed  wafted 
From  the  house  across  the  way. 


THE    HOUSE    ACROSS    THE    WAY.  127 

Night  by  night  that  feeble  shining, 
Streaming  forth  with  steady  ray, 

Told  of  hours  of  care  and  watching 
In  the  house  across  the  way. 

Told  at  last  when  night  had  curtained 

In  her  dusky  folds  the  day, 
All  was  darkness,  all  was  silence, 

In  the  house  across  the  way. 

No  one  told  an  angel  spirit 

Had  cast  off  its  bonds  of  clay, 
Few  that  knew  death  waved  his  sceptre 

O'er  the  house  across  the  way. 

Few  the  mourning  friends  there  gathered, 

Small  and  poor  the  sad  array, 
As  it  crept  towards  the  churchyard 

From  the  house  across  the  way. 

Yet  methinks  a  strain  of  glory 

From  the  heavens  far  away, 
Told  an  angel  had  been  tarrying 

In  the  house  across  the  way. 

Pause,  proud  spirit,  and  consider ! 

When  the  powers  of  life  decay, 
Will  thy  station  raise  thee  higher 

Than  the  child  across  the  way  ? 


128 


THE    SEA. 


WHEREFORE  thy  ceaseless  mourning, 

Thou  dashing,  restless  sea  ? 
Hast  thou  some  hidden  yearning, 

Some  secret  mystery, 
Or  has  some  bitter  wrong  been  done, 

That  thou  wail'st  incessantly^? 

Or  is  thy  mournful  sounding 

The  wail  of  dying  men, 
From  inner  depths  resounding 

Far,  far  below  our  ken  ? 
Of  brave  and  well  tried  hearts  that  died 

On  thy  tossing  billows,  when 

The  briny  spray  was  freezing, 

As  hailstones  in  the  air; 
The  winter's  storm  increasing, 

Left  nought  to  man  but  prayer  — 


THE    SEA.  129 

A  prayer  to  God  for  timely  aid 
In  the  hour  of  dark  despair. 

Long  have  the  children  waited, 

Fond  hearts  been  wrung  with  pain, 

For  the  loved  ones  long  belated, 
Who  ne'er  may  come  again,  — 

Go,  ask  the  billows  how  they  died, 
For  hoping  is  all  in  vain. 

O  moaning  well  befitteth, 

Thou  dashing,  wailing  sea  ! 
How  oft  thy  groan  re-echoeth 

From  hearts  in  agony  ; 
From  hearts  that  daily  watch  and  break 

In  seeking  hope  from  thee. 


130 


WHEN   SKIES  ARE  BRIGHT. 


WHEN  skies  are  bright  and  hearts  are  light, 

From  every  joy  inviting, 
When  every  aim  success  may  claim, 

Each  ardent  wish  delighting,  — 
'Tis  not  the  hours  of  sunny  flowers 

Affection  holds  most  dearly, 
Or  turned  on  high  the  spirit's  eye 

In  loving  beams  most  clearly. 

But  'tis  when  showers  have  dashed  the  flowers, 

Hope  fluttering,  almost  flying, 
Lifts  far  from  sight  each  fond  delight, 

And  leaves  the  spirit  dying  ; 
Then  shining  bright  upon  the  night 

The  star  of  love  is  beaming, 
As  emerald  placed  amid  the  waste 

Some  green  oasis  gleaming. 


WHEN    SKIES    ARE    BEIGHT.  131 

111  winter's  hour  some  little  flower, 

IiTsummer  crushed  and  broken, 
Is  nursed  with  care,  of  warmer  air 

And  brighter  days  a  token  ; 
Thus  when  the  rain  of  grief  and  pain 

O'erfloods  the  soul  with  sorrow, 
The  star  of  love  shines  forth  above 

As  promise  for  the  morrow. 


132 


WARNINGS. 


MAIDEN,  in  the  flowery  spring, 

Listening  while  the  bluebirds  sing, 

As  the  sweet  hours  onward  wing, 
Guard  thy  heart,  O  watchfully. 

Maiden,  in  the  summer  hours, 

When  the  dewdrops  bathe  the  flowers 
Of  the  honeysuckle  bowers, 

Guard  thy  heart,  O  tenderly. 

Maiden,  when  the  autumn's  breath 
Chills  the  merry  leaves  in  death. 

Rustling  sad  thy  steps  beneath, 
Guard  thy  heart,  O  warily. 

Maiden,  when  the  winter's  time 
Silvers  earth  with  frosty  rime, 

When  the  night  winds  sadly  chime, 
Guard  thy  heart,  O  carefully. 


WARNINGS. 


133 


Watch,  —  if  love  bear  off  thy  heart, 
Though  it  hours  of  bliss  impart, 

Thence  the  springs  of  anguish  start, 
Guard  thy  heart,  O  fearfully. 


134 


VERONICA. 


BRIGHT  blossom,  farewell  of  the  Spring, 
First  flower  in  June's  young  offering, 
Where  all  are  fair  I  turn  to  thee, 
Meek  emblem  of  the  Deity. 

Rightly  thy  meaning  name  was  given, 
Thou  constant  gazer  to  the  heaven, 
"  True  image  "  of  Almighty  power, 
Yet  but  a  simple  azure  flower. 

When  sullen  clouds  have  veiled  from  sight 
The  blue  expanse,  or  shady  night 
Creeps  o'er  the  landscape,  still  thy  hue 
Is  one  unchanging  fadeless  blue. 

Would  that  as  thou  reflects  the  sky, 
My  soul  could  mirror  from  on  high, 
And  some  warm  ray  of  glory  shed, 
E'en  if  the  sky  be  dark  o'erhead. 


135 


THE   PRESENT. 


THE  sun  rolls  westward  in  its  course, 

And  night  succeeds  its  shining, 
The  stream  pours  gushing  from  its  source, 

In  mazy  whirlpools  twining  ; 
The  song  is  trembling  on  the  lips, 

Then  flies  we  know  not  whither, 
The  bee  the  clover's  treasure  sips, 

Yet  ne'er  again  comes  hither. 

The  leaves  are  waving  on  the  trees, 

In  love  dance  swinging  gladly, 
Kissed  by  the  sunshine  and  the  breeze, 

How  soon  to  rustle  sadly ! 
When  Summer  calls  her  festive  train, 

And  Autumn  yields  her  treasure, 
How  sad  'mid  fields  of  golden  grain 

Echoes  the  zephyr's  measure  ! 


136  THE    PRESENT. 

> 

Iii  memory  of  the  soft  June  days, 

The  sunny  summer  reaches, 
The  brooks  upon  their  pebbly  ways 

"Winding  among  the  beeches  ; 
Thus  day  by  day,  as  hours  flit  on, 

Forever  forward  ranging, 
We  sever  from  the  moments  gone, 

Inconstant  save  in  changing. 

The  pleasures  of  the  present  hour 

Are  ever  onward  flying, 
To-day  may  smile  on  many  a  flower, 

To-morrow  faded,  —  dying ; 
Then  rouse,  O  soul,  nor  waste  thy  powers, 

In  idle,  dull  repining, 
To-day  may  blossom  many  flowers, 

For  Heaven  thy  wreath  be  twining! 


137 


NOONTIDE. 


Ox  the  sultry  noon  of  a  summer's  day, 

I  lie  'neath  the  linden  tree, 
While  the  scented  breath  of  the  new  mown  hay 

Sheds  an  incense  over  me, 

And  the  odors  that  drop  from  the  linden's  bloom 
Envelope  each  sense  in  a  sweet  perfume. 

And  the  bees  hum  loud  in  each  flowery  cup, 

As  they  dive  for  the  honied  store, 
Till  their  murmuring  melody  conjures  up 

Bright  dreams  of  the  days  of  yore, 
When  in  boyhood  I  played  'neath  the  linden  tree, 
All  my  hopes  and  my  aims  in  futurity. 

How  I  curious  watched  with  an  eager  eye 

The  shadows  climb  up  the  tree, 
Till  they  left  my  sight  floating  far  too  high, 

Or  dissolved  in  uncertainty  ; 

Since  that  day  I  have  seen  fondest  hopes  float  by, 
And  how  many  grow  black  in  obscurity ! 
9 


138  XOOXTIDE. 

As  a  boy  I  would  wreathe  all  my  head  with  flowers, 

In  manhood  I  twine  them  now, 
But  the  perfume  they  breathed  in  my  early  hours, 

They  lose  as  I  pluck  them  now ; 
For  the  breezes  of  memory  ne'er  may  fling 
O'er  the  summer  of  life  the  sweets  of  spring. 

Thus  I  lie  'neath  the  shade  of  a  linden  tree, 

On  the  noon  of  a  summer's  day, 
And  the  perfume  of  flowers  calleth  back  to  me 

Sweet  dreams  that  had  glided  away ; 
Till  I  dream  that  the  man  is  a  child  once  more, 
Plucking  fancy's  flowers  in  the  fields  of  yore. 


139 


OCTOBER. 


THE  sleepy  haze  of  the  autumn  days 

Is  basking  upon  the  hill, 
And  the  willows  weep  where  the  breezes  sweep 

Adown  by  the  meadow  rill ; 
Weep  tears  of  gold  in  the  crystal  brook, 

And  wave  their  fingers  bare, 
For  the  frost  has  thrown  them  a  chilly  look, 

And  left  a  memory  there. 

The  vines'  long  hair  on  the  trellis  bare 

Sways  mournfully  in  the  wind, 
One  calm  clear  night,  when  the  moon  was  bright, 

Some  spirit  of  cold,  unkind, 
With  icy  fingers  had  plucked  the  leaves, 

And  left  them  dry  and  sere, 
And  the  naked  vine  for  its  garment  grieves 

In  the  cold  of  the  waning  year. 

And  the  chickadees  in  the  liveried  trees 
Sing  cheerily  in  the  morn, 


140  OCTOBER. 

Or  from  sombre  pines  as  the  day  declines 

Chirp  out  to  the  yellow  corn ; 
And  blithesome  crickets  at  noonday  trill 

A  merry  and  cheering  strain, 
Each  season  its  measure  of  good  shall  fill, 

And  the  sun  shines  after  the  rain. 

O  not  unkind  is  the  autumn  wind, 

To  whirl  off  the  painted  leaf, 
Its  duty  is  done,  its  course  is  run, 

And  the  wind  gathers  in  the  sheaf; 
'Tis  a  merry  reaper,  that  autumn  wind, 

And  he  worketh  night  and  day, 
Plucks  off  the  leaves  from  the  bending  trees, 

And  garners  them  all  away. 

A  mantle  he  weaves  of  the  fallen  leaves 

To  spread  on  earth's  bosom  bare, 
How  his  shuttles  fly,  now  low  now  high, 

For  he  worketh  the  robe  with  care ; 
Bright  golden  tintings  he  weaveth  there, 

With  purpie  and  gray  and  white, 
While  the  frost  sprites  border  with  ermine  rare, 

In  the  cold  of  the  autumn  night. 

O  not  unkind  is  the  autumn  wind 

To  gather  the  harvest  home ; 
Well  may  it  be  for  me  and  thee 

When  our  days  of  autumn  come. 


OCTOBER. 


141 


When  the  frosts  of  death  o'er  the  spirit  steal, 
And  the  summer  days  are  h^wn, 

Jf  the  parting  -,oul  at  the  last  may  feel 
Its  duty  has  well  been  done. 


142 


MY    HOMES. 


I  HAVE  a  home  where  the  violet  springs, 
The  blue  jay  chatters,  the  bluebird  sings, 
Where  the  oriole's  nest  in  the  old  elm  tree. 
Swings  the  downy  brood  in  the  wind's  wild  glee, 
Where  the  bees  hum  loud  and  the  roses  twine 
'Mid  the  clustering  grapes  of  the  sweet  breathed 

vine, 

W  ne/e  the  skies  are  bright  and  the  flowers  are  fair, 
But  the  home  of  my  soul  is  not  there,  not  there. 

I  have  a  home  'mid  the  city's  hum, 
Where  the  voice  of  Nature  is  hushed  and  dumb, 
Where  wealth  and  luxury,  art  and  ease, 
Have  vied  with  their  various  powers  to  please, 
Where  libraries  teem  with  their  classic  store, 
And  song  and  music  their  tribute  pour, 
Where  all  things  cheer  me  and  soothe  my  care, 
But  the  home  of  my  soul  is  not  there,  not  there. 


MY    HOMES.  143 

I  have  a  home  in  the  realms  of  air, 
"Pis  peopled  with  beings  surpassing  fair, 
With  hopes  of  pleasure  I  ne'er  may  know, 
The  aims  and  the  joys  of  the  long  ago ; 
Desires  and  visions  of  early  youth, 
Hopes  dead  ere  fruition,  bright  dreams  of  truth, 
To  dwell  in  these  portals  I  ne'er  may  dare, 
For  the  home  of  my  soul  is  not  there,  not  there. 

I  have  a  home  in  a  kindred  heart, 

Where  the  flowers  of  tenderness  ever  start, 

The  gentlest  smiles  for  my  coming  stay, 

And  ever  I'm  welcome  by  night  or  day; 

Bright  hours  of  peace,  which  are  too  much  bliss 

For  a  life  so  aimless  and  poor  as  this, 

Are  mine,  but  the  spirit  still  roves  elsewhere, 

For  the  home  of  my  soul  is  not  there,  not  there. 

I  have  a  home  in  the  hillside  lone, 
'Tis  marked  by  a  shaft  of  a  dark  brown  stone, 
There  the  birds  sing  gay  in  the  bending  trees, 
The  long  grass  waves  in  the  evening  breeze, 
Bright   flowers   spring    gay   through   the   opening 

years, 

And  the  bluebells  chime  through  a  dew  of  tears, 
My  pathway  leads  to  that  churchyard  fair, 
For  the  home  of  the  mortal  is  there,  is  there. 


144  MY    HOMES. 

]  have  a  home,  but  'tis  far  away, 
Yet  nearer  it  seems  with  each  passing  day, 
My  eye  hath  not  seen  it,  its  dazzling  light, 
My  ear  hath  not  heard  of  its  glories  bright, 
Nor  my  heart  imagined,  but  still  I  know 
Its  glory  surpasses  the  noontide  glow; 
To  dream  of  its  glories  1  scarce  may  dare, 
But  I  know  that  the  home  of  the  soul  is  there. 


UJ 


145 


THE  HOME   OF  THY  REST. 


THE  home  of  thy  rest,  O  how  oft  have  I  gazed 

Far  up  to  the  dome  of  the  sky, 
To  catch  some  fair  sight  of  the  realm  of  the  blest, 

Some  trace  of  thy  home  to  descry, 
If  perchance  some  bright  blossom  of  heavenly  gold 

Might  hang  o'er  the  battlements  fair, 
Or  some  glory  outstream  as  the  portals  unfold 

To  receive  some  new  habitant  there. 

How  oft  when  the  curtain  of  night  falls  around 

Do  I  gaze,  if  perchance  I  may  see, 
'Mid  the  myriad  stars  in  the  silence  profound, 

Some  trace  or  some  token  of  thee, 
And  list  for  some  whisper  to  tell  to  the  soul 

The  love  and  affection  it  knew, 
Kre  thy  spirit  burst  forth  from  the  body's  control, 

And  breathed  to  my  spirit  "  adieu." 


146  THE    HOME    OF    THY    KEST. 

And  often  I  think  when  the  shades  of  the  eve 

Are  flecking  the  light  of  the  day, 
That  the  eye  in  the  set  of  the  sun  may  conceive 

Some  thought  of  thy  home  far  away  ; 
In  the  gorgeous  tintings  of  purple  and  gold, 

The  dazzling  rays  of  the  light, 
My  fond  longing  spirit  but  strives  to  behold 

Some  view  of  thy  mansion  so  bright. 

O  how  often  I  dream  of  those  regions  afar, 

Yet  wake  and  the  vision  is  flown, 
And  the  poor  sighing  soul  may  but  catch  an  idea 

Of  the  glory,  and  make  it  its  own  ; 
A  thought  of  the  dazzling  brightness  that  streams 

In  a  flood  of  omnipotent  day, 
A  thought  of  the  glory  eternal  that  gleams 

Where  no  nightfall  may  shadow  its  ray. 


147 


TO  THE  WITCH  HAZEL. 


WEIRD  farewell  of  the  dying  year 

To  leafless  copse  and  wood, 
Lone  blossom  of  November  sere 

To  cheer  its  solitude. 

The  birds  are  flown,  the  flowers  are  dead, 
The  woodland  mourns  alone, 

Save  listing  to  the  partridge  tread, 
Or  to  the  jay's  shrill  tone. 

Yet  as  a  fringe  on  Autumn's  dress 

Thy  yellow  tresses  wave, 
As  Memory's  dreams  relieve  distress, 

As  flowerets  deck  a  grave. 

As  to  the  wanderer's  eye  some  star 
May  twinkle  through  the  gloom, 

Or  trembling  glimmer  seen  afar, 
Foretell  his  welcome  home. 


TO    THE    WITCH    HAZEL. 

Thus  to  my  soul  thy  waving  tress 
May  more  of  comfort  tell, 

Than  if  the  chaliced  loveliness 
Of  summer  o'er  thee  fell. 

I  would,  pale  mystic,  magic  flower, 
Like  thee  rny  life  may  be 

A  welcome  in  a  lonely  hour, 
A  smile  to  misery. 

To  shed  a  gleam  of  cheerful  light 
Where  griefs  pale  garlands  twine, 

To  prove  a  star  in  sorrow's  night,  — 
Such,  gentle  flower,  be  mine. 


149 


THE    DEPARTED. 


THEY  are  gone  away,  they  are  gone  away, 

Yet  their  spirits  still  whisper  to  me, 
And  oft  in  the  clouds  of  expiring  day 

Their  angel  white  robes  I  see  ; 
And  the  evening  breeze  as  it  thrills  my  ear, 

Or  wanders  across  my  brow, 
Has  something  which  tells  me  the  loved  are  near, 

But  I  cannot  see  them  now. 

There  was  one  who  fled  in  the  morning  hour, 

Ere  a  cloud  had  o'ercast  the  sky, 
As  if  some  beautiful  noonday  flower, 

In  the  flush  of  morn  should  die  ; 
So  softly  the  perfume  to  heaven  stole, 

We  scarcely  knew  when  it  fled, 
And  a  shadow  of  sorrow  fell  on  the  soul, 

When  the  bright  spring  flower  lay  dead. 


150  THE    DEPARTED. 

Another  had  known  all  of  manly  strife, 

And  bravely  had  played  his  part, 
Had  buffeted  strongly  the  waves  of  life 

With  a  firm  and  steadfast  heart ; 
Yet  a  voice  was  calling  we  might  not  know, 

To  a  region  we  could  not  see, 
And  his  spirit  listed  the  call  to  go, 

And  passed  into  memory. 

I  know  they  are  waiting  for  me  to  come, 

And  oft  at  the  close  of  day 
I  sit  and  muse  on  the  spirit  home, 

In  the  regions  far  away  ; 
I  know  they  are  round  me  and  flitting  near, 

They  call  to  the  far-off  shore, 
And   I  know  when  the  moments  are  numbered 
here, 

I  shall  join  the  loved  once  more. 


151 


I  SHALL   BE   SATISFIED. 


I  SHALL  be  satisfied,  the  tender  blossom 

May  droop  in  sadness  through  the  dreary  night, 
But  the  warm  sunbeam's  gentle  kiss  shall  waken 

The  sleeping  buds  to  revel  in  the  light ; 
So  the  sad  spirit  'mid  this  mortal  journey 

May  faint  and  falter  on  a  weary  way, 
Courage,  weak  heart,  the  promised  home  awaiteth, 

Thou  shalt  be  satisfied,  toil  on,  —  and  pray. 

I  shall  be  satisfied,  though  hopes  deceive  me, 

And  pleasures  fall  to  ashes  in  my  grasp, 
Though  fortune  friends  in  hour  of  darkness  leave 
me, 

And   death    bears   loved    ones   from    affection's 

clasp ; 
Earth's  joy  may  flee  and  sadness  brooding  o'er  me, 

May  fan  with  shadowy  wings  my  fevered  brow, 
Yet  to  the  soul  a  glorious  voice  is  sounding, 

"  Thou  shalt  be  satisfied, —  but  O  not  now." 


152  I  SHALL    BE    SATISFIED. 

Death,  —  when  the  pale  and  trembling  eyelid  closer 

Thin,  hard  pressed  lips  never  to  ope  again, 
A  weary  heart  in  perfect  peace  reposes, 

And  flowers  immortal  spring  from  seeds  of  pain 
Compose  the  limbs,  they  call  for  little  caring, 

The  conflict  over,  grief  and  trial  cease, 
A  brighter  form  the  weary  soul  is  wearing, 

I  shall  be  satisfied  in  perfect  peace. 

1  shall  be  satisfied,  when  shades  of  evening 

Spread  gorgeous  tintings  o'er  the  western  sky, 
The  flying  moments  to  my  soul  are  breathing, 

I'm  nearer,  nearer  to  the  rest  on  high ; 
Patient  I  wait,  for  soon  shall  dawn  the  morrow, 

To  bid  the  watching  one  in  joy  be  free, 
The  sun  of  bliss  drink  up  the  rain  of  sorrow, 

I  shall  be  satisfied,  my  God,  in  thee. 


153 


TO  THE   NIGHT  BLOOMING  CEREUS 


STRANGE  flower,  that  open'st  on  the  silent  night 
Thy  pearly  petals  rich  with  sweet  perfume, 

Monastic  blossom,  shunning  the  fair  light 

That  crowns  the  flowerets  of  the  summer's  noon. 

Alone,  when  other  blossoms  weep  around. 

Save  where  the  primrose  lifts  its  dewy  cup, 
And  from  its  golden  censer  silver  crowned 

Its  incense  to  the  heaven  offers  up. 

Alone,  when  whispering  leaves  have  sunk  to  rest, 
And  roses  sleep  upon  their  dewy  bed, 

When  dipping  'neath  the  river's  silver  breast 
The  fair  Nymphaea  laves  her  graceful  head. 

Then  from  a  coiling,  bristling,  thorny  stem 

Breaks  forth  thy  bud  of  creamy  softened  white 

With  rays  of  gold,  as  some  bright  diamond  gem, 
To  sparkle  on  the  bosom  of  the  night. 
10 


154       TO  THE  NIGHT  BLOOMING  CEREUS. 

To  me  thou  tellest  of  some  gentle  one 
Who  lived  unnoticed  in  the  garish  day, 

Unknown,  yet  little  deeds  of  kindness  done, 

Were  oft  remembered  when  she'd  passed  away. 

The  perfume  of  her  life  to  heaven  shed, 

Outlived  the  bloom,  nor  faded  when  she  died, 

But  from  the  silent  ashes  of  the  dead 
Returned  to  bless,  renewed  and  purified. 


155 


THE    RECORDING   ANGEL. 


THE  hands  were  creeping  around  the  dial 

To  tell  that  the  year  was  done, 
And  the  leafless  trees  in  the  evening  breeze, 
Gaunt  and  gray  in  the  fading  ray, 
As  the  year's  last  twilight  was  shading  away, 

Had  bowed  to  the  setting  sun. 

The  wind  that  had  played  in  summer  hours, 

To  deepen  the  rose's  hue, 
Or  in  jasmine  bowers  to  scatter  the  flowers, 
Sweet  and  fair  in  their  tinting  rare, 
Waving  the  clematis'  silken  hair 
As  the  year  grew  old  had  become  acold 
Had  muffled  the  storm-clouds  in  deeper  fold, 

And  now  it  had  breathed  adieu. 

Afar  in  the  moonbeam  an  angel  wept, 

The  angel  to  whom  is  given 
Omniscient  to  scan  every  deed  of  man, 


156  THE    RECORDING    ANGEL. 

Word  or  thought,  though  they  pass  for  nought, 
To  the  angel's  pen  are  with  meaning  fraught 
To  write  in  the  book  of  Heaven. 

The  tear  drops  fell  on  the  sacred  page, 

The  tracings  were  dark  and  ill, 
But  a  few  hours  more  and  the  year  was  o'er, 
Passed  and  gone  to  the  shadow  land, 
To  join  the  dead  ages,  a  countless  band, 

And  its  record  for  aye  to  fill. 

The  angel  turning  with  tearful  eye 

Looked  back  on  the  waning  year, 
When  an  old  man  gray  in  the  moon's  pale  ray, 
Bearded  white  in  the  silent  night, 
Had  placed  in  her  bosom  a  child  of  light, 
Then  turned  and  in  icicle  shrouding  dight, 
Had  died  on  a  snowy  bier. 

Ah,  fairly  the  years  young  childhood  sped. 

The  future  with  good  was  bright, 
But  each  passing  day  as  it  sped  away, 
Nursing  the  tear  and  the  bitter  fear, 
Had  told  its  sad  tale  to  the  angel's  ear, 
And  dark  was  the  scroll  to  write. 

But  listen,  the  clock  is  striking  slow  — 
And  as  the  last  pealings  die, 


THE    EECORDING    ANGEL.  157 

She  closes  the  book  with  a  tearful  look, 
Closes  and  seals  what  time  ne'er  reveals 
Till  the  final  trump  through  the  heaven  peal?, 
The  birth  of  eternity. 

Closed  is  the  record,  the  year  is  gone, 

Its  shadows  and  sunbeams  sleep 
And  its  acts  of  fame  and  its  deeds  of  blame 
Sealed  for  aye  in  the  record  lie, 
Till  a  glorious  dawn  shall  suffuse  the  sky, 
Till  a  pasan  shall  rise  from  the  realms  on  high, 
And  borne  by  an  angel  minstrelsy, 

The  verge  of  creation  sweep. 


Soft  choral  music  arose  so  sweet, 

The  angel  paused  to  hear, 
And  a  glorious  throng  to  a  measured  song, 
Pacing  slow  to  the  metre's  flow, 
Were  bearing  a  babe  with  an  holy  brow, 

And  singing  the  glad  New  Year. 

The  angel  smiled  on  the  laughing  child, 

And  opened  a  record  fair, 
No  stain  or  spot  or  defacing  blot, 
AH  is  light  on  the  page  so  white, 
It  is  pure  as  heaven,  as  goodness  bright, 

No  shadow,  no  shade  is  there. 


158  THE    RECORDING    ANGEL. 

O  tell,  shall  the  book  when  days  are  fled 

Be  bright  with  the  rays  of  prayer, 
And  our  deeds  of  right  by  the  angel  brighl, 
Ne'er  to  die,  be  enrolled  on  high, 
Or  dark  be  the  lines  in  their  tracery 
The  angel  recordeth  there  ? 


159 


FREEDOM'S   DAWN. 


NOT  ever  thus!  ye  cannot  check 

The  rising  soul  of  man, 
Go,  bid  the  eagle  mind  thy  beck, 

Bound  ocean  with  a  span, 
And  gather  in  thy  grasp  the  wind, 
The  wild,  the  free,  the  unconfined, 
Then  crush  man's  spirit  to  the  earth, 

Ne'er  more  to  rise  again. 

Not  ever  thus  !  from  Heaven's  throne 

The  word  has  gone  abroad, 
Ne'er  till  oppression  is  o'erthrown, 

Returneth  it  to  God. 
The  groans  of  years  are  in  that  word, 
The  prayers  of  ages  all  are  heard, 
And  man  shall  rise  in  Freedom's  power, 

Rise,  ne'er  to  bend  again. 

Not  ever  thus !  man  must  be  free, 
Unbowed  by  might  and  wrong, 


160  FREEDOM'S  DAWN. 

The  glimmer  of  the  morn  we  see, 

The  day  will  break  ere  long, 
The  darkness  fades,  the  east  is  gray, 
And  west  and  south  it  takes  its  way, 
The  chains  drop  off  and  fetters  fall 
Before  its  glowing  light. 

Not  ever  thus  !  land  of  the  free, 

Where  patriot  blood  was  shed, 
Shall  last  and  latest  upon  thee 

This  sun  shine  overhead  ? 
Shall  those  who  bled  for  freedom's  sake, 
Be  last  the  captive's  chain  to  break, 
And  night  still  dim  thy  starry  crown, 
When  all  the  world  is  bright  ? 

Not  ever  thus  !  arouse  thee,  men  ! 

Unchain  the  slave  where'er  he  be, 
Raise  the  oppressed,  the  crushed,  and  then 

Columbia  will  indeed  be  free. 
Then  brighter  will  the  stars  shine  on, 
When  slavery's  darkening  stain  is  gone, 
And  north  and  south  and  east  and  west 

Shall  echo  man  is  free ! 


161 


FLOWERS. 


HKRE  —  there  — 

Everywhere  — 
Swaying  pendant  in  the  air, 

On  the  tomb, 

Whereso'er  we  turn  the  eye 
Catches  their  bright  tracery, 
Which  by  some  fair  mystery 

Cheers  the  gloom. 


Here  —  there  — 

Everywhere  — 
Spangling  the  hillside  bare, 

In  the  grass 

Nodding  silent  and  unseen, 
Where  the  withered  leaves  have  been, 
And  where  mossy  trunks  between 

Breezes  pass. 


FLOWERS. 

Here  —  there  — 

Everywhere  — 
Brightening  some  lonely  lair, 

On  the  stream, 
Floating  on  the  river's  tide, 
Dotted  o'er  the  marshes  wide, 
Mirrored  from  the  brooklet's  side, 

Like  a  dream. 


Here  —  there  — 

Everywhere  — 
Dull  and  gay,  and  dark  and  fair. 

Drooping  low, 

Twining  round  some  ancient  tree, 
Clinging  close  or  waving  free, 
Shedding  sweets  for  me  and  thee 

As  we  go. 


Here  —  there  — 

Everywhere  — 
Springing  freely  without  care, 

Glowing  bright, 
Nurtured  near  the  lordly  hall, 
Climbing  o'er  the  roadside  wall, 
Shedding  o'er  the  sable  pall 

Gleams  of  light. 


FLOWERS.  163 

Here  —  there  — 

Everywhere  — 
Ever  welcome,  —  who  would  dare 

Scorn  the  flowers  : 
Whispering  hope  and  soothing  pain, 
Gentle  ones  not  made  in  vain, 
From  whose  teachings  we  may  gain 

Cheerful  hours. 


Here  —  there  — 

Everywhere  — 
Offering  up  eternal  prayer 

To  the  skies ; 

Thus  may  we  a  lesson  learn, 
Sun  or  rain  some  good  discern, 
Thus  to  heaven  forever  turn 

Prayerful  eyes. 


164 


EVENING   HYMN. 


I  CLOSE  my  door  upon  the  world, 

Father,  to  turn  to  thee, 
The  bands  of  night  with  flags  unfurled 
Marshal  the  shadows,  and  the  stars 

Peep  twinkling  silently. 

Through  the  long  day  thy  guardian  power 

Has  kept  my  feet  from  ill, 
Thy  goodness  scattered  many  a  flower 
Upon  my  path ;  extend,  O  Lord, 

Thy  kind  protection  still. 

Secure  I  lay  me  down  to  rest, 

To  wait  the  morrow's  dawn, 
A  holy  hope  illumes  my  breast, 
I'm  one  day  nearer  to  my  home 

Than  when  I  rose  this  morn. 


165 


TO  C.  A.  R.  ON  HIS  BIRTH-DAY. 


T  HAVE  somewhere  read 

In  the  years  long  sped 
A  strange  and  mystic  story, 

How  in  morning  gray 

On  a  desert  way 
Journeyed  a  hermit  hoary ; 

When  all  around 

On  the  barren  ground 
Streamed  rays  of  heavenly  glory. 

He  was  musing  lone 

How  he  might  atone 
For  sinful  thoughts  unshriven, 

And  a  silent  prayer 

As  an  offering  fair 
Had  lifted  the  soul  to  heaven; 

By  an  angel  bright 

In  shining  light 
An  answer  thus  was  given. 


166  TO    C.  A.   K.    ON    HIS    BIRTH-DAY. 

"  The  saints  who  sit  on  highest  thrones 

Before  the  throne  of  God, 
Are  not  of  those  who  for  praise  of  men 

Through  the  vale  of  penance  trod, 
But  those  whose  souls  in  secret  bowed 
To  kiss  the  chastening  rod. 

Their  golden  crowns  with  diamonds  shine, 

All  small,  but  yet  their  light 
Reflects  the  gleam  of  the  great  white  throne 

So  dazzling  clear,  so  bright, 
That  the  highest  angel  veils  his  face 

In  wonder  at  the  sight. 

Each  moment  given  to  God  below, 

And  spent  in  deeds  of  love, 
Is  marked  in  heaven,  a  jewel  bright 

For  a  diamond  crown  above, 
Each  holy  thought  is  a  gem  whose  worth 

Eternity  shall  prove." 

The  brightness  fled, 

The  hermit  sped 
More  thoughtful  on  his  way ; 

His  daily  life 

With  good  was  rife, 
And  he  oftencr  knelt  to  pray  ; 


TO    C.  A.  R.    ON    HIS    BIRTH-DAY.  167 

The  sick  he  blessed, 
And  the  poor  distressed 
Ne'er  turned  unheard  away. 

Years  fled  away  — 

One  summer's  day 
The  glory  again  was  shed; 

He  raised  his  eyes 

To  the  glowing  skies, 
And  died ;  —  by  the  monks  'tis  said, 

That  a  crown  of  light 

As  of  diamonds  bright 
Was  waiting  above  his  head. 

So  live,  dear  boy,  that  each  passing  day 

May  shine  with  diamonds  fair ; 
Oft  lift  thy  soul  to  the  throne  of  God 

On  the  incense  breath  of  prayer, 
That  when  death  shall  open  the  future's  day, 

A  crown  may  await  thee  there. 


168 


HYMN. 


THE  Saviour,  ere  his  footsteps  trod 
The  last  dark  way  of  pain  and  care, 

Knelt  in  the  garden  to  his  God, 

And  found  new  strength  and  comfort  there. 

Gethsemane,  thy  olives  knew 

His  bitter  agony  of  prayer, 
His  tear-drops  mingled  with  thy  dew, 

His  groans  fell  on  the  listening  air. 

Seraphic  legions  from  above, 

Throng  wondering  in  Judea's  skies. 

To  view  the  crowning  work  of  love. 
The  great  eternal  sacrifice. 

"  Father,  thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done,'' 
In  anguished  tones  we  hear  him  cry. 

The  Lord  of  heaven,  the  Holy  One, 
Bows  to  the  earth,  for  man  to  die. 


HYMX.  169 

Be  still,  proud  soul,  thy  Saviour  knelt, 
Shall  mortal  then  refuse  to  kneel  ? 

For  thee  he  died,  thy  Ans  he  felt, 

O  stubborn  heart,  wilt  thou  not  feel  ? 

Kneel  in  contrition  to  thy  God, 

Pray  while  he  gives  this  mortal  breath, 

For  he  who  Calvary's  mountain  trod, 
Must  be  to  thee,  thy  life,  or  death. 

Thy  death,  if  he  has  died  in  vain, 
If  thou  canst  gaze,  and  ne'er  adore  ; 

Thy  life,  for  thee  he  bore  the  pain, 
For  thee  he  pleadeth  evermore. 


11 


170 


NOT   OF    MYSELF. 


NOT  of  myself — alas,  how  vain 
My  noblest  efforts  to  attain, 
My  fainting  spirit  sinks  in  pain, 
Not  of  myself,  O  Lord. 

Not  of  myself — the  hill  is  high, 
The  flowers  are  dead,  the  wells  are  dry, 
No  bow  of  promise  greets  the  eye, 
Not  of  myself,  O  Lord. 

Not  of  myself —  the  sun's  fierce  ray 
Beats  on  the  path,  briers  line  the  way, 
I  weep  by  night,  and  toil  by  day, 
Not  of  myself,  O  Lord. 

Not  of  myself —  Lord  hear  my  prayer, 
Let  not  the  trusting  soul  despair, 
Though  erring,  yet  I  trust  thy  care, 
Not  of  myself,  O  Lord. 


NOT    OF    MYSELF.  171 

Not  of  myself — I  gaze  above, 

E'en  in  affliction  see  thy  love  ; 

To  me  thy  wonted  pity  prove, 

Not  of  myself,  O  Lord. 

Not  of  myself  —  aid  me,  O  Lord, 
I  claim  thy  promise,  trust  thy  word, 
O  leave  me  not  —  thy  help  afford, 
Not  of  myself,  O  Lord. 

And  if  at  last  through  heavenly  grace, 
My  eyes  may  see  my  Saviour's  face, 
I'll  sing  e'en  in  the  humblest  place, 
Not  of  myself,  O  Lord. 


172 


THE   PICTURE. 


NEAR  my  bed  a  picture  hangeth  of  a  loved  one  fled 
away, 

And  her  silent  lips  oft  whisper  to  the  ear  of  Mem 
ory, 

When  the  mists  brood  o'er  the  streamlets,  and  the 
gaunt  limbs  of  the  trees 

Shake  their  myriad  leaves  in  anger  at  the  fickle 
western  breeze. 

Then  a  well  known  voice  recalleth  hours  and 
actions  long  gone  by, 

Draws  aside  the  past's  dark  curtain  to  the  spirit's 
eager  eye, 

Till  the  cup  of  memory  brimmeth  with  the  wine 
of  youthful  years, 

Yet  the  rosy  hue  is  sullied  by  the  drops  of  man 
hood's  tears  ! 

Then  the  spirit  quaffs  the  nectar  to  live  o'er  its 
youth  again ; 

Oh,  alas,  the  draught  is  bittered  by  the  drops  of 
present  pain ! 


THE    PICTURE.  17M 

Thou  those  speechless  lips  seem  telling  to  imagina 
tion's  ear, 

Of  some  glorious  far-off  region  we  may  only  dream 
of  here. 

Rapt  in  bliss  and  silent  wonder  in  a  trance  the 
spirit  lies, 

All  its  nobler  thoughts  and  feelings  panting  for 
those  distant  skies. 

'Tis  a  dream, —  I  waken,  startled,  gaze  around  me 
all  alone, 

And  see  nothing  but  the  picture  lighted  by  the  Het- 
ting  moon ; 

Yet  I  know  those  lips  have  told  me  of  the  moments 
long  gone  by, 

And  of  glories  they  have  whispered,  splendors  of 
an  unknown  sky  ; 

Surer  the  dear  hope  arises  that  in  some  far  distant 
time 

All  the  glories  may  await  me,  when  I  reach  that 
far-off  clime. 

So  I  close  my  eyes,  and  peaceful  list  again  the  loved 
one  say, 

Of  the  future  to  the  spirit  —  of  the  past  to  mem 
ory. 

March,  1857. 


174 


ASLEEP    IN    JESUS. 


ASLEEP  in  Jesus —  O  the  bliss 

To  sink  in  a  repose  like  this! 

A  rest  where  neither  sin  nor  pain 

May  ever  vex  the  soul  again, 

Where  care  and  trials,  doubts  and  fears. 

Ne'er  brim  the  eye  with  burning  tears. 

Asleep  in  Jesus  —  holy  rest, 
Portal  to  mansions  of  the  blest, 
Sweet  prelude  of  all  sin  forgiven, 
Asleep  on  earth,  to  wake  in  heaven ; 
Asleep  in  peace  in  Jesus  here, 
To  wake  in  joy  with  Jesus  there. 

Asleep  in  Jesus  —  O  for  me 
Let  this  my  final  portion  be  ! 
A  rest  where  sorrows  all  are  o'er, 
Where  doubt  may  vex  the  soul  no  more 
Asleep  in  Jesus  —  on  his  breast 
Where  bliss  is  perfect —  hope  at  rest. 


175 


SORROW. 


HOPE  not  thou  in  life's  long  journey 

Flowers  will  ever  gem  the  way, 
Hopes  will  ever  gain  fruition, 

Golden  apples  ne'er  decay ! 
Dream  not  skies  are  sunny  ever, 

Breezes  soft  and  nature  bright, 
Or  that  stars  shine  gleaming  alway, 

Diamonds  in  the  hair  of  night! 

Think  not  when  the  sun  is  beaming 

Clouds  and  mist  will  ne'er  arise, 
Or  that  joy  will  gaze  upon  thee 

Ever  with  her  dancing  eyes! 
Daybreak  seems  more  bright  from  darkness. 

Blossoms  glisten  from  the  rain, 
And  thy  joy  will  shine  the  brighter 

When  'tis  sanctified  by  pain. 

Every  day  shall  show  from  heaven 
Some  new  birth  of  sun  or  shade ! 

By  each  night  to  our  new  vision 
Some  new  glory  be  displayed  : 


1*6  SORROW. 

Trials,  —  sorrows,  —  so  we  term  them, — 
Are  not  to  us  what  they  seern  ; 

Other  names  the  angels  call  them, — 
We  see  darkly,  —  in  a  dream. 

Every  hour  they  walk  beside  us 

Veiled  angels  —  clothed  in  shade, 
Onward  guiding  us  in  silence 

To  the  realm  where  night  shall  fade. 
What  if  oft  our  mortal  senses 

Quiver  at.  their  warning  hand, 
In  the  ray  of  God's  effulgence 

They  as  shining  angels  stand. 

As  we  near  the  holy  portals, 

As  its  day-beams  on  us  shine, 
Fade  the  dark  robes  of  the  angels 

In  unshaded  light  divine; 
We  shall  hail  them  —  sent  of  heaven  — 

Messengers  of  peace  and  love,  — 
Our  dim  tear  drops  change  to  diamonds, 

In  the  holy  light  above. 


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